The Calling (The Morganian Masters, book 1)
by Nancynhac
Summary: Balthazar's life story, from birth to betrayal and beyond
1. In the beginning

**The Calling**

**Chapter One**

"Innkeeper, service!"

Verdon made his way over to the visiting Saxon and his guards. Deirdre had just brought them their dinners and more ale, so he wondered what was yet lacking. "Yes, sir?" he inquired.

Thane Ederick nodded back toward the girl. "Her. I want her to keep me company during my stay. Two months is a long time to go without a woman, and Rennes is a long way from home."

Verdon fidgeted uneasily. "Sir, she...she's a Christian, and...and a virgin. She's been my servant girl here since she was a child. I...was hoping that my son would marry her when her term is over next year." Deirdre was certainly pretty enough, with her long blonde hair and blue eyes complementing a stately form, and she had a sweet temperament to match. She would make a good wife, Verdon thought with almost paternalistic pride.

The thane leaned forward on his stool. "I don't care what you hope. I'm a paying customer, and I'll have what I want. Be thankful I don't turn my guards loose on your establishment instead. That's not an idle threat." He sat back again, now with an unpleasant grin on his face. "A virgin, did you say? Nice."

"Sir, please. Rennes has many women who would be happy to serve you in that way. Let me send someone to bring you one."

Ederick brought his fist down on the table, hard, and the innkeeper jumped. Slowly the Saxon rose, until his face was mere inches from that of his frightened host. "No," he said. "I want her. No one else. Now, are you going to cooperate, or do I have to take what I want by force?" The guards stood, too, a silent, menacing wall.

Verdon crossed himself. "God forgive me," he murmured. He looked down then, ashamed of what he knew he had to do. "I'll go tell her to meet you in your room tonight."

At last, the two months were over, and the thane's business was concluded. He and his party left for home.

Verdon watched them go with palpable relief. "I hope to never see another Saxon as long as I live," he announced to the girl standing beside him.

She said nothing. Her eyes were sad now, haunted by experience she had never sought. She seldom smiled anymore.

"I'm sorry," Verdon confessed for the hundredth time. "I had no choice. Anyway, it's over now. Charles may yet want to marry you next year. He knows you didn't...that it wasn't your fault."

Deirdre just looked at him. Tonelessly, she informed him, "I'm already married. Thane Ederick is my husband now, by my people's custom. And, I may be carrying his child. There's been no issue."

* * *

"Here ya go, dear," the old peddler said. "The thane's estate." He helped her down from the wagon seat. She was seven months along now, and it was getting difficult to walk long distances.

"Thank you again," she told him sincerely. "I never would have made it without your help. I wish I had something with which to pay you for your kindness." She had spent it all in her search for Ederick, and relied on the charity of others ever since. Now she was here, finally, at his manor in Londinium.

The peddler climbed back up onto the seat. He smiled down at her. "Never you mind about that, miss. I'm just happy to help a fellow traveler in need-'specially a lady as pretty as yerself." She blushed, and he continued. "You take care now. Hope your husband appreciates you comin' all this way to find him, in your condition and all. Godspeed to ya, and good luck to boot." He clucked to his horse, and the wagon moved on down the road.

"Godspeed to you, sir, as well," Deirdre called after him. Then she turned her face toward the Great Hall, the main building of the manor wherein dwelt the thane and his family.

It was a large wooden rectangle with a thatched roof, similar in structure, if not scale, to the other buildings on the property. Like them, it had windows with shutters, but no panes. The shutters were open on this late October day to take advantage of the afternoon sunshine. Beside the door stood one of the guards who had accompanied his lord to Rennes seven months earlier. He recognized the visitor at once, and moved to bar her way. "Stop," he ordered. "You're not welcome here."

"I've come to see your master. I won't leave until I speak with him." She'd endured too much to be turned away so easily.

"Well, you'll have to wait, then. He's out hunting. May not be back until nightfall."

"I'll wait as long as I have to."

"Suit yourself," the guard conceded. "You can go wait by the churls' quarters. Just stay out of the way."

Ederick and his fellow hunters returned before nightfall, but just barely. The hounds ran on ahead. A deer carcass slung across the back of a pack horse proclaimed a victorious expedition. The men were in high spirits, and they made their way noisily toward the Great Hall. The shutters were closed now, but light still shone out around the edges from the fireplace inside.

Deirdre had to raise her voice to be heard. "My lord!"

The riders stopped, looking around in the dusk until they found the source of the call. Ederick stared at her in disbelief. He signaled the others to go on, then rode to meet her. From his perch high in the saddle, the lord of the manor glared down at the woman who stood before him. His good mood had vanished. "What are you doing here?" he growled. "I told you I wasn't bringing you back with me."

If she was intimidated, she didn't show it. Steadily, she answered, "I've come to take my place in your household. You're my husband now, and the father of my child."

He laughed. "Your husband? Woman, you're mad!"

"You've taken my maidenhood, my lord. In the sight of God, I'm yours now. For honor's sake, I must be. The child is yours, as well. Honor demands that you claim him as your own. Give him a name, sir, I beg you."

The thane wasn't laughing anymore. His hand closed around the hilt of the sword at his belt. His voice was low and dangerous. "I care nothing for your God, or your honor. I already have a wife and an heir. You mean nothing to me. Your brat means nothing to me. I reject you both. You will leave my estate immediately, or I'll have my men cut the babe from your belly and leave you both to rot. Is that understood?"

Deirdre was grateful for the dark then, for it hid her face from the one on whom she'd set her fragile hopes-hopes that lay now in ruins among triumphant fears. Broken, she replied, "I can't leave tonight. It's dark, and I don't know my way."

"Tomorrow morning, then. Maybe one of the churl families will let you sleep with them tonight. Be gone before breakfast. And don't come back."

* * *

The Feast of the Nativity came and went without much notice. Having reached Portsmouth after dreary weeks of walking and begging for sustenance, Deirdre could go no further. She searched for a midwife, knowing one would be needed soon. Christians were few in this land, and visits from priests even fewer. She found a suitable woman just north of town.

"I have nothing with which to pay you, Tabitha," she admitted. "All I can offer is my service, and my thanks."

The midwife smiled. "'Tis my Christian duty to help a sister in need. Call it my gift in honor of the Feast. You look like you could use a feast yourself."

Tabitha and her assistant were the only attendants at the baby's birth. Things went smoothly as far as they were concerned, though the new mother felt somewhat worse for wear. She watched as her son was bathed from a bowl of warm water, then wrapped in a blanket. The midwife informed her client, "I don't normally baptize a baby unless he looks to die before the priest can get here." She looked worried. "We haven't had a visit in almost two years."

Deirdre was too weak to reply in a voice much louder than a whisper. "Please," she begged. "There's no one else, and nowhere else I can go. We need you." She glanced at the lone tapestry hanging on the wall, a tapestry depicting the Nativity, which was the only reminder of the Feast that they'd recently observed. "Our Lady would understand."

"Well..." Slowly, the older woman carried her small burden to the dish of salt on a nearby table, set there beside a larger water bowl in preparation for just such an eventuality. She applied a pinch of the spice to the boy's tongue. To him, she intoned, "By my authority as attending midwife, in the absence of a priest or any man, I baptize you in the name of Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar." She removed the blanket and dipped the naked baby in the water. Then, lifting him up for her assistant to dry him off, she looked back at the mother. "And what shall we call this new Christian?"

Deirdre didn't answer for a moment. She hadn't thought about a name before, having convinced herself that the child's father would be the one to name him, as was his right. Now she stared, exhausted in body and spirit, as her newborn son, now swaddled in warm linen, was gently laid in her arms. She thought about the gift of life, and the gifts brought by those three wise kings, woven into the tapestry on the wall, to the one King in his blessed mother's arms. Her child fussed at the taste of salt on his tongue. She gave him a sad, sympathetic smile, then held him closer until he found mothers' milk. What was his future going to be like? What hope had he, or she, alone and destitute here in a strange town far from her home across the sea?

She looked up, finally, at the ladies waiting for her answer. "Balthazar," she said, "for this gift to me is naught but bitterness."

* * *

Winter was hard on them both. Deirdre had no place to stay, no food except for the little that kind strangers could spare, and no way to pay for either. She ventured to ask a shipmaster if he would take them across the Sea of Brittany.

"Why should I?" he countered. "What've you got to offer?"

Her pleas for Christian, or even humanitarian, compassion fell on deaf ears.

He did have a suggestion of his own, though. "You're a nice-lookin' lass, even if you're a little thin. I'd be willing to take ya across, maybe, if you, um...make me a happy man." His leer made his meaning obvious.

She hugged her baby tight. "I couldn't," she said. "Is there some other way we can pay for passage?"

"Oh, this is just for your passage, missy. The boy's another matter. Nope, can't think of anything else you got that I'd want."

"I won't leave him!"

The captain shrugged. "Your choice. An empty belly can make a person do things she wouldn't do otherwise. Think about it."

She left, but the seed had been planted. Slow starvation began to take its effect. When her milk failed and her child cried with hunger, the captain's words came back to her mind. What she refused to do for herself, she couldn't refuse for her son. She prayed that he wouldn't pay the price for her fall.

* * *

Along the sea shore a little way from the dock, a small child ran laughing in the afternoon sun. He was chasing the waves as they receded, and running from them when they came rolling back in. His bare feet had already been soaked many times, but he seemed oblivious to the cold salt water. The beach was rough here, full of gravel and sharp pebbles. He took no notice.

The boy ran after another retreating wave, but then stopped suddenly, as a sharp pain stabbed up from his right foot. He looked down. A thin but steady stream of blood ran from beneath his sole, onto the wet gravel. Distracted, he didn't see the incoming wave until it was upon him. The water's force knocked him onto his backside, then flat. Now totally drenched, he crawled up to the dry part of the stony beach, where he sat shivering with cold and pain. He started to cry,

After what seemed to him a very long time, his mother came to the rescue. "Balthazar," she admonished, even as she stooped to examine his wounded foot, "I _told_ you not to go too far from the house. And where are your shoes?" The cut wasn't bad, but he wouldn't be running again for a few days, at least. She lifted him into her arms. He clung to her neck, his lower lip trembling and his blue eyes still full of tears. Burying his face against her neck, the boy let his water-darkened chestnut hair mingle with his mother's golden locks. She carried him back along the beach as she scanned it for the small leather sandals that her son had been wearing when he left the house. They were nowhere to be found. She shook her head and sighed. "Oh, Balthazar," she said, "must you always go wandering?"

Back at their house, Balthazar's mother sat him down on the bench that ran the length of one wall. The fire in its central, clay-lined hearth was burning low. Mother stoked it with a few faggots she brought in from outside, then suspended a water-filled cauldron from the iron tripod set around it. Turning to her son, she stripped off his wet shift and wrapped him in a blanket instead. She dipped a clean rag in the warming water and used it to wash his sore foot. A marigold poultice followed. Finally, another rag was wrapped securely around his foot and ankle, so that only his toes could be seen. She caught hold of his big toe playfully, smiling at him. "Better?" she asked. He nodded, a little unsure, but encouraged by her manner. "Good," she continued, and hugged him. She left him to check on the cauldron. "Warm enough," she said as if to herself, but then addressed the boy directly. "Bath time. Yes, that includes your hair. We need to get the salt water out of it." With soap and wet rag in hand, she attended to business.

When he was clean and dry, night had settled in. That was just as well, for Balthazar's adventure had left him too tired to stay awake much longer anyway. He was clad in a linen shift and carried to the woolen-covered mat of straw that served as his bed. His mother tucked him in, after which they recited their usual bedtime prayer together. "Good night, dear," she said when they finished, kissing him on the forehead.

Balthazar watched sleepily as his mother went back to the bench where he'd endured his bath. Under it was stored most of the household goods that weren't being used. Mother knelt before a stack of folded cloths and carefully pulled them out from their niche. She reached into the space to grab a small wooden box. Balthazar's eyes widened in curiosity. "What's that?" he asked.

She looked back at him. "You should be asleep, young man," she scolded, not ungently. "Well, I suppose there's nothing for it now but to show you." She brought the box over to him, and he sat up in bed. She lifted the lid. Inside were things he'd never seen before: a few ancient, well-worn coins, some colorful gemstones, and an armband traced with gold. She set the box on the floor. Reaching under the top of her dress, she pulled out a leather pouch at the end of the string necklace she wore. From the pouch, she removed her newest acquisition: a ring.

It wasn't particularly ornate or valuable, just a heavy silver ring set with amber, but Balthazar found it fascinating. He reached out a hand. "May I touch it?" he asked, the wonder evident in his voice.

She smiled. "For a minute," she replied. She let him hold it that long, but then took it back. "It needs to stay in the box now," she explained. "These are my treasures. When I get enough, we'll leave this place. We'll cross the sea, then go to my hometown and buy some land there. Maybe I'll even find a husband. You can have a father then, Balthazar. Won't that be nice?" She returned the box to its place under the bench and hid it once more behind the folded cloths.

Balthazar didn't know whether having a father would be nice or not. His mother was the only family he knew, and he wasn't sure he wanted to change that. Obviously, though, Mother wanted it, and he wanted her to be happy. "I'll help you find more treasures," he promised.

Her reaction wasn't what he expected. She frowned. "No. These are...gifts. Men give them to me sometimes when I work for them. They're secret. Do you understand? "

He didn't, but nodded anyway.

She pressed him. "You mustn't tell anyone about this, Balthazar. The box and the treasures are our secret. We don't want anyone to know, because he'll come and take them. Don't...tell...anyone. This is just between you and me. All right?"

Balthazar nodded again. "All right," he agreed. "I won't tell anyone." Then he yawned, suddenly overcome with fatigue. He lay down, and soon fell fast asleep. From that day on, he searched wherever he went for more treasure, but never told people what he was doing or why. As he was usually alone anyway, this didn't present a problem.

* * *

The rocky beach was well-populated, but not by humans. Balthazar discovered a clutch of three speckled eggs lying in a rude, shallow nest beside a tuft of grass. He retreated a short way, then lay on his stomach to wait for the mother bird to return. He didn't have to wait long. She was a handsome creature, black and white with bright orange legs and a long, blunted orange bill to match. This was an oystercatcher. There were many more like her on the beach, including her mate. She looked directly at the human observer before settling down to cover her eggs, apparently unconcerned by his presence. She knew he meant no harm. Balthazar adopted the family as his charge that summer, driving away predators by throwing small rocks at them with deadly accuracy. He became Balthazar the Great Defender.

He couldn't be there all the time, though. One day, even before he reached his usual lookout spot, he felt a sudden foreboding. There was something, an enemy, close by. He heard a commotion ahead, then a terrified squeak cut short. He shouted and started to run toward the noise, but he was too late. A hawk rose, the limp body of an oystercatcher chick in its talons. It was out of range before Balthazar could even pick up a stone to throw at it. The Great Defender had failed.

He stood watching as the hawk and its prey disappeared into a copse of trees beyond the end of the beach. "I need to throw farther," he said to himself. He had perfect aim, and could catch almost as well if his target had any sort of predictable path, but he lacked the power to throw very far.

To remedy this weakness, he made himself a sling. It was easy to carry, hung on his belt with a pouch of smooth stones tied next to it. He fancied himself as the shepherd boy David, killing lions and bears to defend his flock. Then the remaining chicks reached adulthood, and the family left. After that, Balthazar used his skill to procure game for dinner. Squirrel and hare, partridge and duck-none was safe when Balthazar the Mighty Hunter was on the prowl. He felt their minds, where they were and where they would be when his sling-bullets hit them. He shot accordingly.

* * *

Deirdre emerged from her tent after her latest customer had gone on his way. She carried in her arms the packet of linens and herbs he'd used as payment. Cloth, salt, herbs, or tools - these were her usual remuneration for service. "Treasures" were rare, only to be had from sailors who'd picked them up in distant lands.

Her son waited for her on the other side of the big elm tree by which her tent was pitched. He knew that this was her work place for most of the year, and he wasn't permitted to go any nearer to it. When she approached him, he held up for her inspection yet another of his finds.

"No, you can keep it," she told him. It was just a copper alloy clasp, a common item used for clothing. He always hoped to find something worthy of her treasure box, but she knew he probably never would. She let him have his own "box" instead. It was a shallow pit he'd dug in the ground here under the tree, lined with flat stones to protect his discoveries from sitting in dirt or mud. He'd started out with a pit behind their house, but the town children had found it and destroyed it, scattering the fruits of his labor with abandon. They didn't like Balthazar because he wasn't one of them. Their parents didn't allow them near the tent, either, though, so this was a safer place for a treasure pit. It held an assortment of small metal items, iron or bronze or copper mostly, and some pebbles collected for their pretty colors or hint of sparkle. The clasp joined the rest of the collection.

"Here, you can carry this back to the house." She gave him the packet, and they walked together in the deepening twilight. She removed the scarlet ribbon that held back her flaxen hair and advertised her profession. Only in winter, when it was too cold to use her tent, did she work at night, taking a room at the town inn, for which she paid the proprietor half her wages. Out here, it was too easy to lose one's way in the dark, especially for strangers.

* * *

Balthazar waited impatiently by the elm tree. It was getting dark already in these final days of Autumn, and he had something new to show to his mother. The customer came out of the tent first, as always. He paused to retrieve the satchel he'd left outside the door flap. He was a stranger, which wasn't so unusual. His hair was short and black, with a trim dark beard and mustache to match. The ebony eyes were stern, the body lithe and solid. He sported a leather tunic, wool trousers tucked into his boots, and over all a long mantle in brown velvet trimmed with silver. Balthazar noted with sudden interest that the man also wore a ring, one with a large red stone.

Mother appeared next. She looked worried; their session had lasted longer than normal. "I'm sorry," she told the man. "I need to go home now, but I can give you my lamp so you can find your way back. I know this path well enough to do without it."

He seemed pleased by the offer, but shook his head. "No need," he said. He held out his ring hand, palm facing forward. The ring glowed. From his palm, a ball of fire leapt and hovered a few feet ahead of him. It lit the area clearly.

Balthazar gasped in amazement. He stepped closer, forgetting the rule about staying back. "How did you do that?" he wondered aloud.

The adults noticed him now for the first time. "Balthazar," his mother scolded, "what are you doing here? And what are you talking about? Do what?"

Balthazar pointed at the fireball. "That." The man looked astonished, but his mother's face showed only confusion. "Don't you see it?" he pleaded. "He made fire out of his hand. It's right there." He pointed, but she appeared to see nothing but empty space.

Now she looked downright afraid. She quickly crossed the short distance between them, dropped to one knee and put a hand to his forehead. "No fever," she murmured. She examined his eyes, but found nothing wrong there, either. "You must be seeing things because you're tired," was her doubtful conclusion. He could tell that she was thinking something worse, but didn't want him to know.

Both of them were startled when a voice sounded from one side. "This boy sees things, eh?" The man had come silently near, and the fireball had disappeared, leaving only the dim flicker of light from Mother's lamp. He was studying Balthazar intently. His gaze wandered to the item clenched in Balthazar's hand, the one he'd brought to show his mother. "What do you have there, boy?" he asked. "Let me see."

Reluctantly, Balthazar held up the bronze spur he'd discovered. The man put down his satchel; then, taking the spur, he turned his back to the boy's mother, covered the spur with both hands, and concentrated. The ring glowed again. When he relaxed his grasp, a shiny gold coin lay upon his open palm. He smiled at the boy's reaction. With a bow, he presented the coin to Balthazar's mother. "For your services, madam," he said.

Then he straightened, serious again, and addressed her in a businesslike tone. "I've been looking for an apprentice. Your son will do nicely. He looks to be old enough, unless I'm greatly mistaken."

"He'll be ten in January. I was hoping that one of the local tradesmen would take him in, but I haven't found one willing." She sounded sad. "It's because of what I do. Even the ones who don't care about that would rather look for someone else. Balthazar is...different."

"How?" the man asked with keen interest.

"Well..." She hesitated, afraid to lose this chance for her son, but not willing to lie, either. That would only make things worse. "He...he knows things. Like the weather. And where to find animals, when he wants to. He says he can hear their minds." She stared at the ground. "And now he's starting to see things, too."

Balthazar listened to the conversation with growing apprehension. "I'm not going mad," he told them both firmly, but inwardly he doubted the truth of his assertion. Was it any wonder, then, that nobody wanted him as apprentice?

The stranger, however, didn't seem to be put off. Instead, he assumed a reassuring tone, and said to the woman before him, "I'm a physician, as I've told you. I can help your son. Once he's cured, he'll make a fine apprentice for me. His mother's profession is irrelevant."

Something wasn't right about this, Balthazar knew, but he couldn't figure out what. Was the man playing games with them? Had Balthazar really seen what he thought he had? All he knew was that he wanted this man to go away, now, and not return. "Mother," he begged, "please, let's go home. I don't want to go with him. We'll find someone here. Please, don't make me leave."

She visibly wavered. The man saw it, too, and scowled. He held the ring directly in front of her face. It glowed once again as he stared. "What do you want most?" he asked her.

As if in a trance, she replied, "To go home to Brittany. To find God's forgiveness, and marry, and see my children grow up well. I want my son to have a better life than I can give him."

He nodded. Without moving, he asked, "Boy, do you have any more trinkets? Any metal will do."

Balthazar the Great Defender was back. He stood a few feet away from the adults, his sling in hand. "Leave my mother alone," he commanded. "I've never used this on a person before, but I will if you make me. I never miss."

He cried out then, for the sling had burst into flame. He dropped it, and it burned itself to ashes. "No, I don't suppose you do," his nemesis replied calmly. "Now, if you're finished playing the hero, let's get back to business."

Balthazar was too scared now to think. "Mother," he called. She didn't respond. He ran to her, but the man grabbed his arm and kept him from touching her. "Let me go!" he demanded. "What have you done to her? Mother!"

A flash of anger came into the stranger's eyes, but just as quickly disappeared. "Your mother is fine," he said with firm control. "Answer my question, boy. Do as I say, and then you'll get your mother back. Have you any more trinkets?"

Balthazar stopped struggling. He looked down at the ground, which was nearly invisible in the black night. His voice was almost a sob. "Y-yes, sir. No more like the one you took, though."

"That doesn't matter. As long as they're metal, I can use them."

"I'll show you. B-back here, behind the tree." He led his captor to the nearby treasure pit, with another fireball moving just ahead of them to light the way.

"Ah, good." The man released Balthazar's arm. "Stay. Watch." He knelt and reached into the pit. Piece after piece was converted to gold, until the pile was enough to half-fill a cauldron. He stopped then, grinning. "I prefer to use the local resources when I can, rather than deplete my own. This should be sufficient."

Back in front of the tent, Mother still stood like a statue. A wave of the ring before her eyes seemed to wake her, and she blinked at the man standing there. "I can help you go home," he said smoothly. "I know a ship's captain who'll take you anywhere you want to go, if the price is right. You'll have plenty left over to start your new life in comfort." Slyly, he added, "Why, there's even enough for a dowry." He grinned again, clearly enjoying this. "_But,_ only you. I keep the boy. I know how to cure illnesses of the mind. Don't worry-I'll teach him well, and he can come back to you when he's finished. He'll have advantages he could never have with a local tradesman. Who knows? Your home village may get a physician of its own."

So it was decided.

* * *

At the dock on the second day following the stranger's arrival into his life, Balthazar and his mother said their good-byes. The wooden chest in which she'd packed everything she'd need for the move was already on board the ship, and the captain was eager to depart. The trip across the Sea of Brittany would only take half a day, but there were other ports of call he wanted to make after that. He and the stranger were engaged in their own conversation while they waited.

Balthazar's mother held him in a long embrace. They were both teary-eyed, but she smiled for his sake. "You must be brave, my Balthazar," she said. "You're going to be a physician. You'll learn to read. You'll be an important man someday."

He wasn't convinced. He glanced toward his new master. "I don't like him, Mother. He frightens me. Can't I come with you? Please? I can be an apprentice there, where you're going, can't I?"

She sighed. "I wish you could, dear. I'm sorry, but we had an agreement. It's better this way." She brushed away the tears from his cheeks. "I know you don't like this, but you need to learn a trade. This is a good one. You'll get used to your master soon enough. He's going to help you. Be good, listen to what he tells you, and don't forget to say your prayers." She picked up the cloth bundle that lay on the ground beside them. "Here." She had to physically put it into his arms. "There are warm clothes in here for winter, and an extra pair of shoes. One more thing." Reaching under her hair, now free forever from the shameful scarlet ribbon, she removed her necklace with its little pouch. She opened it to show him what was inside. It was the ring he'd so admired years before. "It's yours now," she said softly. She slipped the necklace over his head. "May it bring you good fortune. God's protection be upon you, and me, until we meet again." Then, with a final kiss, and a final whispered "I love you," she rose and walked away.

Balthazar stood alone on the dock. He watched as his mother climbed aboard the ship; then, as it set out, he replied, though no one else heard, "Good-bye, Mother. I love you, too."

He never saw her again.


	2. Morgana's compound

**Chapter Two**

"Well, boy, don't just stand there. We have a long journey ahead of us." Balthazar's new master waved him nearer. He led his pupil to an open wagon that waited nearby. Hitched to it was a sturdy bay horse that looked them over placidly and then ignored them. "Up you go." Balthazar stepped onto the man's cupped hands, holding his packet of clothes under one arm, and was easily hoisted up onto the wagon bench. The man followed. He flicked the reins, and they headed away from the sea.

Balthazar looked back. In the bed of the wagon were a large travel trunk, the satchel, and several other containers of various make and size. Hay was pushed up against the wagon sides, presumably for cushioning, but useful also if their horse couldn't graze.

"You can toss your bundle back there now," the driver told him. "By the way, my name is Alvar. You can call me that, or Master, whichever you like."

"Yes, Master Alvar. I'm Balthazar."

The man shook his head and sneered. "I know your name."

"Oh."

They rode in silence for a while. Then Balthazar said in a low voice, "Mother thinks I'm not well. In the head, I mean. She thinks I just imagined all those things you did with your ring." He raised his eyes to study his master's face. "Is that true? Am I going mad?"

Alvar chuckled. "No, you're not going mad. We see things that humans don't."

"Humans? But aren't we humans, too?"

"Well, yes and no. We're more than human, better. We're sorcerers. Humans are fit only to serve us, their rightful rulers." He waved a hand dismissively. "You'll see soon enough."

"Sorcerers..." Balthazar didn't feel like a sorcerer. He felt like a sad, lonely little boy heading into a scary dark future not of his choosing. "But Master Alvar, I can't do magic," he objected. "How can I be a sorcerer? I thought I was going to be a physician, like you."

His companion shook his head. "No, you won't be a physician; or, at any rate, that's not likely. The healing talent is exceedingly rare. I don't know any sorcerer who has it-besides Morgana, of course. I learned my trade before she found me, and it still has its uses. You, however, won't need it. You'll have enough to learn as it is."

"Then you lied to us!"

"Yes. That's not important. What is important is that you're going to be one of us. Morgana needs as many of us as she can get."

"Who is Morgana?"

"Our leader. I'll tell you more later, after you get your ring. We have a nice selection back at the manor. You can pick out whichever one you like." He smiled to himself as if remembering a battle won.

"But I have a ring now." Balthazar pulled the amber adornment from its pouch and held it up.

Alvar looked a little surprised, and not altogether pleased. "Ah, well, we'll see. I'd like you to at least look over the ones we have before you make a decision. Then, when you activate your ring, you'll be able to do magic."

"How do I do that? Activate it, I mean?"

"Later!"

Balthazar said nothing more, but stared at his ring, imagining possibilities. Maybe this apprenticeship wouldn't be so bad, after all.

* * *

"It's going to rain today,"

"When?"

"Late this morning." Balthazar looked up, his blue eyes mirroring the color of the sky. He felt the coming downpour in his skin, sensed the changing air pressure in his ears.

When the sky darkened, he glanced aside at his fellow traveler. "Aren't we going to cover the wagon?" he asked. And ourselves, he implied, but didn't say.

"No need."

As he watched, his master set down the reins. Alvar raised both arms. With a sweeping motion as if clearing away debris, he focused on the threatening clouds above. They parted to either side of the wagon's path. The rain let loose. It came down in sheets, but the wagon passed between the walls of water with impunity.

* * *

A week after they had started their journey, after sending Balthazar into the back of the wagon to bed down for the night, Alvar strode a few paces beyond where Dandy, their horse, was tied to a nearby tree. There he sat, cross-legged, in the tall grass. Balthazar, ever curious, peeked over the wagon side to see what his master was doing. The man didn't appear to be doing anything. He just sat, eyes closed, for what seemed like a long time but probably wasn't. Bored, Balthazar lay down again on his bed of hay.

He was half-asleep when he heard Alvar climbing into the wagon beside him. He opened his eyes. "What were you doing?" he asked. "Out there, sitting in the grass."

Alvar sighed. "Don't you ever sleep?" He didn't get an answer, nor did he expect one. He continued. "I was talking with Morgana."

"Morgana? Is she here? I didn't see her."

"Her spirit was here. It's what we call astral projection. Our spirits were talking to each other. We have meetings scheduled every week, so I can tell her what I've learned, and she can give me instructions if I need them."

"Oh. Will I learn how to do that?"

"Yes, you will, but not for a long while yet. Now go to sleep."

* * *

They stopped at other villages along the way. Alvar, instructing his student to stay and look after Dandy, took his satchel and visited those who needed his services. Because he took only what payment his patients could afford to give, he became quite popular. He asked questions, and the people freely answered. At each of the larger villages, he spent a few minutes alone with one of the more knowledgeable residents, whether that resident was ill or not. Then he returned to the wagon, and they were off again.

Balthazar was puzzled. "Why do we stop at the villages?" he asked. "Why do you help humans if you don't like them?" It wasn't for the payment, obviously.

Alvar replied, "This is part of my job. I'm one of Morgana's scouts. I gather information for her, among other duties. I got lucky this time." He grinned. "I found her a new soldier."

"So you're looking for soldiers? Why? Are we fighting someone?"

"Yes. We have powerful enemies. We have to be powerful, too."

Balthazar considered this. "I...I don't know if I can be a good soldier. I'm not even a sorcerer yet."

"We'll teach you. You'll learn how to handle weapons a hundred times better than your pathetic little sling."

"A sword?"

"A sword, yes. And other things."

"What other things?"

"You ask too many questions. You'll see when the time comes." Alvar refused to say any more about it.

* * *

The path led through a forest. Normally, it skirted groups of trees, but the forest was too extensive to readily bypass. Balthazar fidgeted nervously.

"What's wrong?" asked the master.

"The forest. Do we have to go in there?"

"It's the most direct way back to the manor. Why?"

"Well, Mother told me that forests are dangerous. Outlaws and wild animals live there."

"It may be dangerous for humans. Not for us."

They entered. Balthazar tensed, but nothing happened. They rode in uneventful silence. Balthazar closed his eyes and concentrated on finding wild animals. He located a myriad of creatures, mostly hidden from view. However, there was an area directly ahead with very few. That wasn't right.

He opened his eyes. "Stop," he ordered.

Alvar glanced at him and deigned to obey. "What is it?"

Shadows flitted among the trees. They spread along both sides of the path until the wagon stood directly between the two halves.

Ahead of them, a scruffy, unsavory-looking character stood in the middle of the path, holding a large knife in one hand and a leering smile on his face. He was flanked by a pair of archers. Balthazar looked around, and saw more enemies behind the wagon. From the trees to either side, the rest emerged. Some had knives, some clubs or staves, but all were armed and menacing. The travelers were surrounded. Balthazar slid closer to his master.

"Goin' somewhere?" the leader challenged.

Alvar didn't bother answering. Instead, he sighed and shook his head. In the next instant, a blue flashing ball shot from his upraised hand and slammed into the outlaw leader. He swept his silver-trimmed mantle around the boy, pulling him down, and they huddled beneath it as the archers let fly. The arrows bounced off the velvet shield. Alvar looked up to see an onrushing tide of shouting ruffians. He swept his arm in a wide arc. The attackers flew back as if an invisible hand had thrown them with the force of an explosion. Some hit the nearby trees and collapsed. The others took one terrified look at the one they'd thought to rob and scrambled away in a panic. The outlaw leader lay moaning on his back, still on the road directly ahead. Alvar spoke to him in an icy voice. "You have ten seconds to get out of my way. Otherwise, we're going to ride right over you." He started a countdown. The outlaw flailed, trying to get his legs under him to run, but finally had to resort to rolling off the road. He barely cleared it in time.

The wagon rolled on. Alvar looked down at his awestruck young pupil. He smirked. "I told you it wasn't dangerous for us. Now do you believe me?"

Balthazar nodded. "Why didn't the arrows hit us?" he asked.

"No human can penetrate a sorcerer's shield. Only another sorcerer can."

"Oh." That was good to know. "What was that blue thing you shot?"

"That was a plasma bolt. It's one of the weapons you'll learn how to use."

"A plasma bolt. Is that another kind of fireball?"

"Um, no. Tossing fire around in a forest is not wise, unless you're suicidal."

"Oh yeah, right." Balthazar felt stupid, until he noticed the grin plastered on the older man's face. He couldn't help but smile in return.

* * *

The wagon reached a clearing in the middle of a dense woodland. It was a large rounded hilltop surrounded by a sea of trees. Fifty feet from the edge of the woods, past a solid blanket of thorn bushes, a high palisade wall encircled the base of the hill, with an iron-reinforced gate directly ahead of the travelers on their path. Alvar stared at the gate, and it swung open for them. When they were through, it closed itself again. Balthazar heard the heavy locks click back into place. The sound had an air of finality about it, and he felt a twinge of unease, but he said nothing. Instead, he looked forward at the vista rising before them as the wagon climbed the gentle grade.

A manor house sat upon the summit. It was an imposing structure built of stone, which in itself was unusual, but what made it more so was its shape. It was a huge, two-story pentagon.

Around it were smaller buildings, mostly wooden except for a stone kitchen to the left. Beyond the kitchen were storehouses and two larger houses of the familiar thatched-roof design, the latter accompanied by a bathhouse next to each. Balthazar recognized stables on the right, along with a carriage house and storeroom. A spacious stone courtyard stretched between them and the area in front of the manor.

"Welcome to your new home," Alvar told him. "This is Morgana's headquarters. You'll be here for the next ten years or more." He stopped the wagon there on the courtyard.

As they disembarked, a thin older man approached from the direction of the carriage house. He was bald, clad in simple garb, but wore a short necklace-almost a choker-with an amulet pendant. He bowed.

Alvar nodded in acceptance. "Blake, we have a new student. I've already decided I'll be staying, so you can take my things to my quarters. The boy has a bundle, too."

The man made no reply, but bowed again. He led the horse away.

The inside of the manor was as impressive as the outside Balthazar stared, wide-eyed and speechless, at his new surroundings. A great open space took up the center of the stone floor. In it was inscribed a pentagram, oriented to match the building walls, and in each of the six sections was an arcane symbol. The open space was hemmed in by single-story walls with archways providing a glimpse of the rooms behind them. A wide stone staircase on the left led up to an iron-railed balcony. This extended all the way across the upper level, which covered the back third of the lower one. A door and paneled walls showed that the balcony fronted a long room, but what lay within remained hidden.

The door opened. Through it stepped a woman, regal in dress and bearing. Her red hair was done up in an elegant coif. She wore a form-fitting black gown that glittered as she moved. She stood at the railing, unsmiling.

Alvar bowed, gesturing for his pupil to do the same. "Morgana," he acknowledged.

As if on cue, two men emerged from a room behind the staircase, the only room on this level with a door. They were of Alvar's generation, and dressed in similar garb. From the right, an old, frail-looking man shuffled into the open space, followed by five boys ranging in age from about twice Balthazar's to only a few years older than he. Everyone studied the new arrival. Balthazar, feeling their scrutiny, stood frozen in place. For the first time, he began to wonder if he should have come here. Would he pass muster? What if he wasn't good enough? He sought to catch his companion's eye, trying to find reassurance there, but the other was looking up at Morgana.

The leader spoke, and her voice was as cold as her expression. "Balthazar," she said. "One of the wise kings from a Christian myth. We'll soon see if this boy is worthy of the name." She turned to Alvar. "You've done well, scout. Have you made your decision? Will you stay and become his master, or leave him with another and go back to the field? Karl already has three apprentices, but Ewert has room for one more."

Alvar replied, "I choose to stay."

"Very well. Have him ready by Friday."

"Yes, Morgana."

She turned and disappeared back into her room. The frail old man called to his group, "Come on, boys. Back to class." The two men on the left departed as well, leaving Balthazar alone with the sorcerer who'd found him.

* * *

"Well," said Alvar. "We have two days. Let's get you acquainted with the base. We'll start with the grounds." He led his charge back outside Judging by the morning shadow, the main door, situated at one of the pentagon angles, faced due south. Alvar gestured at the courtyard. "This is where you'll learn to fight without magic. Ammon will teach you to use a sword and other weapons. He's also our horse master. You and your classmates spend two days a week with him, Monday and Thursday. Tomorrow will be a busy day for you."

"Where is Ammon now?" Balthazar asked.

"Patrolling the forest, no doubt, if he's not down at the smith shop. He keeps the woods clear of humans and Merlinian spies. Plus, he usually brings back meat for us."

"Who are Merlinians?"

They walked clockwise around the big stone building as they talked. Past the kitchen and storehouse, Alvar nodded toward the nearer longhouse. "Masters' quarters," he explained. "Yours are in the next house, with the other boys."

"Who are Merlinians?" Balthazar asked again.

"Merlinians." Alvar grimaced. "They're the enemy. We follow Morgana. The enemy leader is Merlin."

"Why are we enemies?"

"Because they're weak, and they would have us be weak, too." At his student's puzzled look, the master launched into what sounded like a well-rehearsed speech. "Sorcerers are better than humans. Anyone can see that. We're stronger, smarter, and have abilities that humans wouldn't dare dream of. We're meant to rule, and humans are meant to serve us. It's obvious.

'Merlinians refuse to accept reality. Instead of using their power to take their rightful place along with us, they use it against us to serve humans. Humans!" He shook his head. "I just can't fathom it. It's not bad enough that they choose to waste their own talent, but they won't leave us alone to use ours as we see fit. They've sworn to destroy us, who should have been their brothers.

'Don't let one of them catch you alone, boy. Merlinians may have weak spirits, but their powers are just as strong as ours. I've heard that their leader specializes in psychic attack. He'll get into your head to find out everything you know, and then rip your mind apart so you won't even know your own name anymore." He glanced down at the other's frightened face, and his tone softened. "Don't worry about it right now. You're safe here, as long as you stay with me or another master. We protect our own."

The tour continued. Behind the manor, covering the entire back half of the hill, stretched what could have been an ordinary small village, complete with houses, workshops, fields, and animals. If the palisade wall extended this far, it was invisible behind the trees at the bottom of the slope. A score of inhabitants kept the settlement in order. The men, like old Blake, had shaved heads, while the women covered theirs with scarves. All had the same type of close-fitting amulet necklace that Balthazar had seen earlier. They kept their distance from the visitors, avoiding eye contact and falling silent until they passed by.

"These are our servants," Alvar volunteered before Balthazar could ask. "As you can see, it's not so different for them here than it would be outside. They do our bidding and show proper respect. In return, we keep them safe from barbarian attacks and wild animals, and we keep them supplied with any materials they need that aren't available on the grounds. If one of them gets sick or hurt, Morgana or I can heal him if we choose. It works out well."

Further on, they came to the stables. Blake was inside, cleaning the dozen stalls, but the horses themselves grazed in two paddocks behind the building. Balthazar counted ten, including the bay that had drawn their wagon. He guessed that horse master Ammon rode another, which left one stall unaccounted-for.

"Nestorio is using the other animal," said Alvar. "He's another scout. Morgana likes to have at least one doing rounds at all times."

"When is he coming back?"

"When his tour of duty is over, in another month, or when he finds a new student-whichever comes sooner. It will likely be the former, since we don't find sorcerers very often. Magic is a rare quality. You're the first new one we've discovered in two years."

Balthazar considered this for a moment. Then something occurred to him. "What happens when Nestorio gets back? Are you going to scout again? Will I go with you?"

"If Nestorio decides to stay, as I did, then Morgana will send out another. No one has to do two tours in a row. He probably will go back out, though. He loves to travel, but he's not so fond of teaching."

"But if you go out again, will I go with you?"

"No. Apprentices stay here until they pay the release price, or until their master pays it for them."

"What's the release price?"

"A Merlinian ring. That's how we acquired a collection of them."

"How do you get a Merlinian ring?"

"You weary me with your questions, boy. That's enough for now."

* * *

The sun was high overhead when they went back inside the manor. Everyone headed for the dining hall, partly visible through an archway in the stone wall on the far side of the pentagram room. Balthazar joined the other boys at one table. The adults sat at another, at which Morgana had her own central chair. Servants brought the midday meal through a plain wooden door at the rear of the building.

Balthazar, seated at the end of the bench, listened to the conversation of his table mates, but wasn't invited to join in. Eventually, the stocky blond beside him noticed. "Hullo," he said to the newcomer. "I'm Rolph. I was the youngest one here until you came along." He grinned.

Balthazar smiled in return.

A soft voice came from the opposite end of the table. "We know who you are." It was cordial, if not exactly friendly. The speaker was a tall, wiry lad with smooth black hair and the beginning of a beard. "Cassius," he announced. "I'm the oldest. I expect to finish my training next summer, and then I'll get my chance to buy my way out of here." He introduced the others. Bram and Phelan were both sixteen, and the redhead Sheridan was just a year younger than they.

Rolph confided, "You're lucky you got here when you did. Jerome's class is _soooo_ boring. All we do is read." He rolled his eyes to emphasize the point. "But we do our floor training this afternoon with our Masters, and tomorrow we get to work outside with Ammon. He's my favorite teacher."

"I like Jerome's class," Sheridan interjected, his green eyes full of sincerity.

Rolph grimaced. "Sheridan is our artist. He likes to create things. I like destroying them." Then he grinned again, broader than before.

Balthazar looked down. "I'm not ready to train yet," he confessed. "I don't have a ring yet, and I...I don't know how to read."

"Really? Well, don't worry about reading. Jerome will teach you. Did you at least get your Spell Book?"

"What's a Spell Book?"

"I guess not. It's your own personal book about magic. You'll probably get it on Friday, after you have your sorcerer ring. Anyway, you won't need them before that. You're just watching today, and tomorrow we concentrate on fighting and riding. We don't use magic for those until we learn how to do without it."

"There's a lot to learn, isn't there?"

"Yep. There's a lot."

* * *

That afternoon, Balthazar got an inkling of just how much there was to learn. He and Alvar watched as the other students took turns, or worked together, on the training floor. Their dueling practice was as much a contest between the masters who coached them as it was between the boys. After each duel, Karl or Ewert would have his charges stand in specified circles to teach them new spells and techniques, or simply to practice those they already knew. To Balthazar, it seemed almost like a dance. Alvar kept up a running commentary.

Phelan threw a blue flashing ball at Cassius, who was in the center circle of the pentagram. The elder apprentice danced out of its way. Through the open doorway behind Phelan, a bench sailed fast and low, without a sound. It struck the attacker behind his knees and stopped. Phelan sat, hard. His momentum carried him backward, and he fell onto the floor, arms and legs flailing helplessly. Cassius the victor laughed.

"You remember the plasma bolt in the forest, right?" Alvar asked his fellow observer. Balthazar nodded. "You learn that in the Matter realm. Cassius is in the Motion realm, where you'll learn telekinesis, as he just demonstrated. You'll be able to send concussion blasts from there, too, like I used on the other outlaws."

A new pair of apprentices replaced the first on the training floor. Rolph stood in another circle, the ring on his outstretched hand glowing bright purple, obviously concentrating on Bram, who was sending gusts of wind and pelting rain at him from the opposite side of the pentagram.

"Rolph is practicing psychic attack," Alvar explained, "and Bram is trying to distract him."

"Rolph is trying to invade his mind?"

Alvar held up his ring. "Invade or control it. Remember when we first met?" Balthazar frowned. It wasn't a pleasant memory. His teacher went on. "Humans are powerless against it. They become..._susceptible_ to suggestion, shall we say? And they don't remember anything about it when we're done. Sorcerers learn how to defend themselves against psychic attack. Only a stronger sorcerer can break through, so building up your defense is one of the first things you need to know."

"You said Merlin specializes in psychic attack."

"Yes. That's what Morgana says."

"Are we strong enough to defend ourselves?"

Alvar confessed regretfully, "Most of us aren't. Only Morgana is strong enough. That's why we go after the lesser Merlinians. It's also why no apprentice is allowed to leave the grounds without his Master or another adult." He smiled down at his student. "We don't want to lose our boys."

Bram was looking frazzled. Suddenly, he stooped and touched the floor. A ripple streaked across the pentagram toward his opponent, gaining force as it moved. The ground shifted under Rolph. The blond lost his concentration, and his balance. He fell onto his backside. That simply, the duel was over.

* * *

Shortly after sunset, it was bedtime at Morgana's compound. The boys' quarters were spacious enough to house many more occupants than they currently did. Inside the building, six beds of straw in wooden frames had been set up, with a roughhewn chest at the foot of each for personal belongings. On either side of the door was a small ledge, shielded at both ends, for holding a lamp or candle. There were no other furnishings.

Five of the chests were already inscribed with symbols that Balthazar assumed were their owners' names. He opened the plain one, at the second bed from the right end, and sure enough, the bundle of clothes he'd been given was there inside. He closed the lid again. Glancing to his left, he noticed Sheridan retrieving something from his own colorfully painted chest. The other boys gathered round the artist.

"What are you gonna draw for us, Sheridan?" asked Rolph.

"Wait and see," was the enigmatic response. "And make sure the shutters are closed tightly." The redhead walked to a plain expanse of wall. Parking a fireball dangerously close to his wooden canvas to give him enough light, he quickly began to work. With his left hand, he used a stick of charcoal to form the outline and shadows of a winged creature. White chalk added the highlights. When he was finished, Sheridan stepped back with a smile.

Bram recognized it. "A vampire bat," he announced. "Nice."

"Ready?" asked the bat's creator. His audience nodded, except for Balthazar, who had no idea what was going on. Sheridan's pearl ring glowed as he touched the picture.

The bat moved. Sheridan snuffed out the fireball, and his creature suddenly seemed all too real. Balthazar heard the creak of straining wood, then a tearing as the wall released its new decor. A black shape flapped furiously around the interior of the dimly lit room. The boys scattered to avoid it. "Okay, get it!" shouted the artist.

Balthazar ducked as the air was filled with projectiles: knives, books, even shoes, all aiming for the elusive target. No plasma bolts or fireballs were used, however. Both were too destructive in an enclosed space. He searched for the mind of the animal, the Mighty Hunter ready to strike, but to his dismay found nothing. He followed the flight path with his eyes instead. Taking off one shoe, he prepared to hurl it at the bat.

The shoe was already in the air when a silvery glob enveloped the vampire bat. At first, it seemed that the glob froze its target in place, but as Balthazar watched, it continued to move ahead, albeit at a mere fraction of its normal speed. His shoe sailed past where the bat would have been.

Cassius, with a self-satisfied smirk, pulled the cover off his bed. He approached the straining beast and threw the cover over it, bringing it to the ground. One hard stomp, and the bat strained no more. He lifted the cover. The silver glob was gone. On the floor, a smeared swirl of chalk and charcoal was all that remained of Sheridan's creature.

The younger boys applauded the victorious hunter. He nodded his acknowledgment. "Clean up," he ordered in his soft, stern voice. "I'm going to bed."


	3. Boar hunt

**Chapter Three**

Thursday morning was cold enough that Balthazar could see his breath as he joined the other students in front of the manor. The sun was just beginning to make its appearance. A man who Balthazar had seen at breakfast, Ammon, was there already-a large man of hard body and full brown mustache to offset the graying hair pulled back into a short ponytail. Despite the chilly air, Ammon wore no mantle, though he did carry a short sword at his belt.

"Good morning, boys" their teacher said. "I see we have a new warrior with us." He rubbed his hands together. "All right. Three laps around the building, then meet me at the armory. Go."

When Balthazar finally trailed into the manor, panting from his exertion, he found the armory room on the right-hand side of the training floor, in front of Jerome's classroom. It was stocked with an impressive array of weapons: blades ranging from dagger to long sword, axes, spears, staves, whips and archery equipment. Against one wall stood a row of life-sized stone statues, men with blank spaces for eyes, bearing the marks of previous battles. Ammon chose a weapon for each of his five older pupils. Then, touching five of the statues in turn, he brought to them a semblance of life. He sent them outside to spar one-on-one with their designated opponents. To Balthazar, he tossed a wooden training sword. "You'll be learning the basics today," he said. "I'll be your sparring partner until you can handle a golem."

The morning passed quickly. By the time the sun reached its zenith, Balthazar had made the acquaintance of every type of weapon in the armory. He felt more comfortable with the bow and arrow than with anything else, because it came closest to his experience with a sling.

Ammon directed his golems back to their places, and the boys returned their equipment. "This afternoon, we go on a hunting expedition," the teacher announced to the great delight of his students. "I'll see you at the stables in one hour."

* * *

"What are we hunting?" was the question on everyone's mind when the group was gathered again. Not that it really mattered-the fun lay in getting away from headquarters for a few hours. Any excuse for a field trip was welcome.

Ammon answered the question anyway, not in words but in action. He dropped the pouch he was carrying and turned around to face the manor. The shuttered armory window flew open, and through it came a half-dozen heavy spears, crafted with twin lugs behind the blade. The instructor and his five older pupils each caught one of the spears.

"Wild boar," Rolph surmised. He and the others were duly impressed.

Balthazar stood unarmed, feeling left out and useless. "What about me?" he dared to ask. "I want to come, too."

"Oh, you're coming," his teacher assured him. "But you're not hunting. Boars are too dangerous, and without magic, you're too liable to get hurt, not to mention being a distraction for the rest of us. I won't have you putting yourself or the other boys at risk."

"If I had my sling, I could hunt."

Ammon rolled his eyes. "No sling." He gestured toward the open window. "Here." The archery set that Balthazar had been practicing with that morning sped into its user's hands. "You're not bad with this. Stay with the horses, and if the boar comes charging out of the forest at you, you can shoot it. All right?"

Balthazar nodded happily.

"Can we go now?" asked Rolph with an impatient wave toward the stables.

"Yes, yes. Go mount up. Blake is waiting for you." The boys took off at a run.

Ammon and his youngest student followed more slowly. Since this was Balthazar's first time on horseback, they chose the gentlest riding animal for him, a sorrel mare named Tango. Blake led her outside by her bridle, then held her head to keep her still while another servant brought her saddle and bags. Ammon helped the budding equestrian up to his lofty perch. He called to the rest of the expedition, "Wait for us at the gate. No racing!"

When they caught up with the others, the leader had a few words of instruction before they left the premises. "Remember," he said, "boars are most active around dusk. We'll be out past suppertime, so I've had provisions packed in your bags, along with your field dressing gear. Once we get near our target area, we'll need to stay quiet and downwind. That won't be for at least an hour, though, so you can enjoy the ride until then." He reached into the pouch he'd slung behind his saddle. From it, he withdrew five amulets like those the servants wore, strung from somewhat longer cords so that they slipped easily over their wearers' heads. "These will let me keep tabs on your locations," explained the teacher. "Don't lose them."

He opened the gate, and out they went. Ammon pointed toward a path, camouflaged now under a coating of fallen leaves, that disappeared into the surrounding forest, allowing the more experienced riders to go on ahead while he followed at a slower pace beside the new one. "Don't get too far ahead," he told them, "And stay together." Visibility was fairly clear now that the broadleaf trees had lost their foliage, but there were still enough conifers to obscure the view at any distance.

By mid-afternoon, the party had reached the edge of a clearing. Here the riders dismounted, Balthazar with the help of his instructor, who waved the others closer. "Now, who can tell me what signs to look for?" he asked them, testing.

"Droppings!"

"Trees with no bark!"

"Rootings!"

"Oak trees."

"Tracks?"

Ammon beamed. "Yes, very good, all of you. We'll pair off from here and search the area. Keep as quiet as you can, and that includes watching where you step. Also, don't forget to stay downwind, even if it means you have to circle around. If you find something, come back to the clearing right away. Don't try to take on our quarry by yourselves. We'll meet back here in one hour, whether we find anything or not." He turned his attention, finally, to Balthazar. "You stay here with the horses, as I said before. Keep your eyes open. You might want to walk off some of that stiffness I know you're feeling right now. You can practice your archery, too, while we're gone. Just be careful not to shoot until you can see your target clearly. We don't want any accidents."

The hunters melted into the woods in three different directions. Balthazar did as Ammon had suggested, for he was indeed feeling muscles he'd never noticed before. "I'll be feeling them even more by the time we get back tonight," he thought ruefully. He searched for the minds of any game nearby. Most of the animals were lying low until nightfall, or until the intruders moved away.

There! Back in the trees, watching him with bright, curious eyes. It was a familiar creature, known to Balthazar from his years of hunting with his homemade sling. He peered up and caught a glimpse of russet fur among the branches. Smiling, he fitted an arrow to his bow.

* * *

Bram and Phelan were the first ones to return. They met Balthazar at the edge of the forest. "What's this?" Phelan asked, staring at a pile of fur and offal on the ground. The bloody carcass of a red squirrel lay atop it.

Balthazar stated the obvious. "I've been hunting."

The older boys looked at each other, bemused. "So we see," said Bram. "Not bad. What's wrong with the squirrel?"

"Liver spots." That was always a risk when hunting such game. At least there weren't as many parasites now that the weather had turned colder. The other squirrel, and both hares, had appeared to be free of them. Balthazar continued. "Did you find something? I don't think the hour is up yet."

"Yes, we did, and the hour will be up soon. Let's just wait until everyone is here."

When the others came back to the clearing, Ammon took note of his youngest pupil's kill. "You did that just while we were gone?" he asked rhetorically. "You've done archery before today, haven't you?"

"No, sir. I've only used a sling."

His teacher studied him with heightened interest. "You have promise, boy. I'm impressed." The other students showed signs of resentment, but Ammon took no apparent notice. He turned his back on Balthazar to address them. "What have you found? Rolph and I came up empty."

Cassius volunteered, "So did we."

Bram had better news. "We saw scat, and some rootings. They look recent." He pointed in the direction of their discovery.

"Excellent. We'll eat first. By the time we're finished, it will be almost dusk. There should be just enough light to move into position before it knows we're here."

Before the boar hunters set out again, Ammon had some words of warning. "I want you all to be careful. No heroics. Courage, yes, but not rashness. Remember, hit it between the shoulders if you can. Hit hard. If it's only wounded, it will attack. More than one man has been killed by a boar's tusks." With a grim smile, he added, "You'll be tempted to use magic. Don't give in. This hunt is meant to prepare you for battle, when the other side has the same power as you do. You have to learn to fight on equal terms. So, unless it's a literal matter of life and death, no magic. If I catch any of you using your sorcerer power without need, you will be punished. That is a promise." On that solemn note, he led them toward the area that Bram had indicated.

* * *

Balthazar was alone again. As an experiment, he concentrated on finding the mind of the boar that his companions were stalking. Eventually, he found it.

The animal was just waking. It sensed an alien presence, making it more alert and edgy than was even its usual wont. It sniffed the air. A cold but gentle breeze carried the scents of the forest. The boar's leathery snout could detect the smell of food even underground or under water, and its hearing was excellent as well, but poor eyesight meant that a careful hunter could approach to within a few yards of it before being discovered.

The wind shifted. Now came the odor of fresh meat, still warm with blood. There were other smells, too, predominantly horse, but they posed no threat to an aggressive creature like itself. The alien presence came from the same direction. Hungry and curious, the boar started cautiously toward the enticing food smell. It hadn't gone far when it picked up the source of the strange mind touch. It was man.

Food or no food, man meant trouble. The beast halted. It turned to go the opposite way, but suddenly found itself ringed by a far greater menace. A half-dozen more men charged, their weapons held before them. Their target fled by the only opening left to it, straight toward the food and horses and alien.

Balthazar watched and waited in the deepening gloom of nightfall. He held his bow at the ready, muscles taut to keep them from trembling. The thing coming toward him was massive-much bigger than anything he'd ever hunted before-fast, and armed. He couldn't afford to let fear make him miss.

A black shape broke from the trees into the clearing. It turned then and ran to one side. Relieved, the young archer let fly an arrow which struck just behind the beast's shoulder. Thick hide and a layer of fat kept the missile from penetrating far, but it was enough to get the boar's attention. It squealed its fury and charged its attacker.

There was no time to run. Balthazar already had another arrow in place. The monster had its head lowered, ready to slash upward with its sharp tusks as it passed. At close range, the hunter shot dead center into the creature's spine, just behind the head. The animal kept coming. He leaped aside to avoid the charge, but he wasn't quite fast enough. The great moving wall knocked him off his feet. It spun back in a mad rage to finish the job. On the ground, Balthazar squeezed his eyes shut, certain that this was the end.

Surprisingly, it wasn't. Instead, he heard the boar squeal again, and the sound of a heavy body thrown down with a force that made it roll over and over before it stopped. He dared then to open his eyes. Ammon, his ring still aglow, was running toward the animal, shouting to the others, "Pin it down! Hold it!" Five spears thrust down into the heaving mass at their center. Balthazar sat frozen in horror, listening to the dying cries of the doomed wild boar. He saw Ammon draw his knife, then stoop down in front of the creature's head. The knife made one swift pass, and the cries ceased. The hunters' quarry was dead.

Ammon wiped off his blade in the grass. He returned it to its sheath and rose, leaving the older boys to tend to the carcass. He had business with the youngest.

Balthazar could see his teacher's anger as the man approached. He felt it when he was pulled roughly to his feet, and heard it in the man's voice.

"What did you think you were doing, boy? I told you to stay out of the hunt!"

He was about to protest that he had indeed been given permission to shoot if the boar came into the clearing, but Ammon wasn't about to let him speak. He was still too upset.

"I had to use a concussion blast to get that thing away from you in time. The whole point of this exercise was to fight without magic. Thanks to you, it's all been a wasted effort." He glanced down at the blood on his hand, the hand that had grabbed his pupil's arm to haul him up, and frowned. "You've been hurt, too. Didn't I warn you about that?"

Now that the heat of battle was subsiding, Balthazar became aware of a searing pain in his arm. A deep cut there showed that the tusks had found their mark at least once. Blood soaked his sleeve and dripped off his fingertips into the grass below. He felt lightheaded.

Ammon caught hold of him before he could fall. He felt himself steered toward the horses, where he was allowed to sit while the master retrieved items from his saddlebag. He watched as Ammon, kneeling beside him, cut off his sleeve above the cut, used the rag to wipe away as much blood as possible, and raised a vial over the wound. He smelled alcohol. Liquid poured into the open cut, and he couldn't suppress a cry at its burning.

"Serves you right," his teacher commented, but the anger was gone from his voice. "I'm no healer, but this will keep it from getting worse until we can get you back to headquarters." He applied a poultice, then wrapped the arm tightly in clean cloths. "Lie down now until we're ready to go. I have to see how much the rest of my class remembers from when I taught them how to field dress big game." He tossed a rolled-up blanket onto his student's lap and stood. "Nice shooting, by the way. All you needed was a stronger weapon."

* * *

It hadn't been a restful night for the newest Morganian candidate. He vaguely remembered being hoisted up, blanket and all, to ride in front of master Ammon for their return trip. His mare Tango was used to carry the meat from their kill. Bits of conversation among the older students, perhaps meant to be overheard, still burned in his memory.

"He ruined everything, and now he's getting special treatment."

"He plinks a few squirrels, and thinks he's something great."

"We should have left him at the manor."

"Yeah, let him pluck chickens with the slaves while we go do some real hunting."

Then there was Morgana. After Ammon gave his report, she declined to use her healing power. "Let it be a reminder to him to take our instructions seriously. The physician can stitch him up if he so chooses."

Alvar had done so, though with a tenseness he couldn't quite conceal.

"Are you angry with me, too?" asked his patient.

Alvar shook his head. "No. From what I heard, you showed a lot of courage. Maybe it was foolishness, but it was courage nonetheless. I can't fault you for that."

"I wish I hadn't gone at all."

"What's done is done. I'm just glad I can use my skill to help, since our leader hasn't seen fit to heal you." He bit back any further comment, lest his words betray his thoughts.

Alvar finished his ministrations. "Bedtime," he said. "You've been up a lot later than you should be. Tomorrow's the big day, and you'll need your sleep."

In the boys' quarters, the others were already asleep, or at least they pretended to be. Balthazar felt a chill that was more than just the winter air. His arm throbbed. It was hard to get comfortable. When we did finally drift off, the image of a mad beast with burning eyes shrieked horribly as it closed in on him. He woke with a start, heart pounding and sitting bolt upright, but there was only black silence in the room. He lay back down, and the cycle started again. It was a long night.

* * *

Since there were no classes on Friday, the boys were free to sleep in for a while. All except Balthazar, that is. Alvar woke him in the first gray light of dawn

"Feeling better?" the man asked quietly, so as not to disturb the others. He looked more closely, then answered his own question. "No, it seems not. Well, there's nothing for it. After today, everything will change. Come on, go get washed up. I'll wait for you inside the manor house."

When Balthazar arrived at their rendezvous point, still bleary-eyed, he caught the lingering aroma of food from the empty dining hall at the rear. He'd missed breakfast, and the midday meal wouldn't be ready for several hours yet. His stomach rumbled. He looked with pleading eyes at his master.

Alvar was apologetic, but unmoved. "I'm sorry, little one," he explained. "You're not permitted to eat anything until the ceremony is finished. That's why I didn't wake you sooner." He moved away, toward the room behind the steps. "Come here," he invited. "I have something to show you." He held the door open and waved Balthazar inside.

It was sheer luxury. The floor was laid with hardwood, upon which a bearskin rug lay facing the door. Chairs, rather than the usual benches, provided ample seating, with a low table set in their midst. Shelves and cabinets held both ordinary and arcane items suitable for a den such as this one. The room was warmed by a blazing fire in a stone recess, with an angled opening above for ventilation to the outside air.

"This is the masters' study," said Alvar. "No apprentice is allowed in without his master's invitation. Or Morgana's, of course, but that hardly ever happens. Humans aren't allowed in at all." He reached up to a high shelf and took down an ornately carved, polished wooden box about a foot long. He opened it for his student to see.

Rings filled the interior. They were a wide array of materials, colors, and designs. Some were metal, some stone, some other substances or a combination. All manner of gems were represented. One ring featured a roller as its showpiece. One was hinged so that it could open to reveal a hollow space inside for hiding or storing some secret material. There was even one carved from ivory, with a detailed line drawing of the elephant inscribed on its surface. It was an impressive collection.

Alvar put the open box on the table. "Which one do you want for your sorcerer ring?" he asked. "Go ahead, choose."

Balthazar frowned. Did Master Alvar not remember? He pulled the amber ring from its pouch around his neck. "This is the one I want. My mother gave it to me. It's the only one I'll use."

Alvar sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that. Are you sure? All these in the box have already been primed. Most of them came from Merlinians, but a few are all we have left of our fallen comrades. Any of them will give you more power than a raw piece like yours can provide."

"I don't care. I won't be a sorcerer with someone else's ring."

"All right, I can see that you're determined to go through with this. So be it, then." He closed the wooden box and returned it to its shelf. "Maybe your choice won't be so bad. Amber is supposed to enhance a sorcerer's powers, among other useful attributes. It will help to put you in the proper state of mind when we start the activation process." He gestured to one of the chairs. "Sit down. Let me explain what's going to happen."

Balthazar listened with growing trepidation. By the time his master finished, he wasn't sure he wanted to be a sorcerer quite that badly.

Alvar noticed. "Scared?" he asked.

"A little."

"It's all right. Everyone feels that way at the beginning. Don't worry-you'll be fine. I'll be right there with you, so you can draw on my strength if you need to."

It wasn't much reassurance, but Balthazar was grateful for it anyway. He managed a faltering smile of thanks.

"While we're here..." His tutor opened one of the cabinets and pulled out a large, heavy book. He laid it on Balthazar's lap. "This is your Book of Incantations. That's its official title, and Jerome always calls it that, but everyone else just calls it the Spell Book. Every sorcerer has his own personal copy."

The book's new owner opened it carefully. To his surprise, he found no words inside, but only pictures, though some of those did have labels.

"The words will show up when you're able to read them," said Alvar. "You can take your book over to Jerome's classroom now. Stay there until I come to get you." Together, they left the study.

* * *

Balthazar needed both hands to carry the big book he'd been given. Long tables, tilted at a slight angle with a ridge along their lower edges, served as desks for the class. Benches provided the seating. Five Spell Books rested on their respective tables. Balthazar chose an empty desk near the back, away from those that were already claimed. He wanted to be as unobtrusive as possible in hopes that his classmates' resentment would fade. He sat at the desk, marveling at each page of his beautiful new picture book.

"Here. Drink this."

Balthazar looked up, startled. His master stood before him, holding out a cup of some steaming beverage. He took the cup and made a disgusted face. "It smells awful."

"It will taste awful, too. The quicker you are, the easier it will be. Hold your nose if it helps."

"What's it for?" he asked.

"It will help to open up your mind. It will ease your transition into the spiritual world. Quit stalling now. Drink!"

Reluctantly, he did as he was told. The acrid taste left a burning sensation in his mouth and down his throat. His eyes watered.

Taking back the empty cup, Alvar returned to the dining hall, where he gave it to a servant to clean. Then he left the manor. By the time he got back, with the other teachers and students following, Balthazar was feeling more than a little strange. His vision blurred and shifted uncontrollably. He grabbed the desk to keep from falling over. When a man-sized fuzzy form pulled him to his feet, guiding him to the center of what had to be the training floor, he reeled as if drunk, leaning heavily on his guide for support.

Alvar planted his student in the center circle of the pentagram. He knelt directly in front of him with a hand clamped on each of the boy's shoulders to hold him up. "Bring out the ring," he commanded. "Let the ceremony begin."

* * *

Balthazar heard the command through the fog that clouded his senses. His fumbling fingers searched in the little pouch he wore, but they were too clumsy to catch hold of the trinket within. Finally, he upended the pouch and let the ring fall into his waiting, open palm. He would have dropped it if not for Alvar's quick snatch. He watched as his master lifted the ring for all to see, heard the clear voice announce:

"Amber, for strength and healing and protection. It gives power to those who know how to use it. It frees the flow of energy, and allows the mind to see beyond our world. Do we accept the ring?"

Ten voices responded, "We do."

Alvar pressed the ring into Balthazar's left hand. With a short, sharp dagger, he cut the palm of the initiate's right and held it up.

"Fire, represented by the hot blood in our veins. This will be the means to bring awareness and vitality to the ring. Do we accept the blood?"

"We do."

Alvar laid his dagger on the floor. He covered the boy's hands with his own and brought them together so that the amber ring was bathed in its owner's blood. Alvar's began to glow bright red as he closed his eyes and concentrated.

A rich musky scent filled the air. It was warm and soothing, the smell of a pine forest that was old before human eye first beheld it.

Balthazar felt the warmth in his hands growing in intensity. The golden jewel was melting, mingling with the blood that surrounded it, but he felt no pain. Whatever else the draught had done, this was one effect that was most welcome. Finally, when the heat had reduced the amber to liquid, the master allowed him to move his hands apart. The silver band was still intact, but it lay in a viscous pool of pulsating red-gold fluid. The pool seemed almost alive.

The dagger was back in the master's hand. He used it to cut off a sliver of his pupil's ear.

"Earth, represented by the flesh of our bodies. This will be the means by which the ring will know its master. Do we accept the flesh?"

"We do."

He let the bit of ear fall into the pool. It dissolved, and now the liquid began to gel. It, and the band, took on a golden glow.

This time, the announcement came before the action. "Air, represented by the breath of our lungs. This will be the means by which the power flows through the ring into the physical world. Do we accept the breath?"

"We do."

As he'd been instructed, Balthazar raised his hands and blew gently on the glowing mass he held. Immediately, a thick white smoke billowed up. It settled all around him, cutting him off from the outside world. He was left without sight or sound or any other sensation. He might have been floating, for there was no direction and no pull of the earth to remind him of his body hidden in fog. It was peaceful there in this timeless dream world, and he would gladly have remained there forever.

From a distance, so it seemed-though he didn't know how that could be, here where time and distance both meant nothing-a mind of extraordinary power brushed against his. He recoiled, but now the stranger was aware of him. Out of the fog emerged the ghostly image of a man, an old man with a long white beard and eyes that seared through to his soul.

The image spoke. "Come to me," it commanded. "Come, Balthazar."

He couldn't help himself. He had to obey. He _wanted_ to obey. He drifted closer to the specter, which reached out a hand to welcome him.

Abruptly, an invisible wall brought him to a halt. He heard the cold voice of Morgana from nowhere and everywhere.

"Leave us, old man. He belongs to me."

The image faded away, and Balthazar felt a keen sense of loss at its going. Why? he wondered, but now time was reasserting itself. His dream world was ending.

The white smoke turned into billowing black ash. It stung his eyes and made them water, even when he squeezed his eyelids shut. He heard another announcement ringing through the darkness.

"Water, represented by the tears in our eyes. This will be the means by which all will be completed. The sorcerer will have his power. Do we accept the tears?"

"We do."

Balthazar couldn't see anything. The ashy blackness was impenetrable. Even if it weren't, it was causing him to be blinded by his own tears. He lowered his head to let the streams fall onto his waiting hands. That was the only way to end this.

A tiny flash of light showed where the first teardrop hit. With each successive drop, the light grew brighter and lasted longer. It drove away the darkness until there remained no trace of smoke or ashes. Instead, cradled in the hand of a young Morganian candidate, a white star lit the manor more brightly than the noontime sun. There were no more tears now, only wonder. Eventually, the star dimmed. Balthazar found, not an amber ring with silver band, but a new piece altogether. The band was gold, the gem a glittering green marvel. He could only stare in awe.

He wasn't the only one. Alvar lifted the new ring with trembling hand to examine it. "It's a diamond," he concluded. He turned to face Morgana, who stood watching it all from her balcony. "He's one of the elite."

Balthazar didn't know what that meant, and right now he didn't care. All he knew was that he had a ring, his mother's ring, and he was going to learn magic with it. He was a sorcerer at last.

* * *

"Who was that old man?" asked Balthazar later, when he and his master were alone again. "You didn't tell me I'd see anyone."

Alvar looked puzzled, and slightly alarmed, at the question. "Old man?"

"With the white beard. He called to me."

"I don't know. Tell me everything that happened. It could have been a hallucination, but still..."

Balthazar described his brief encounter. His teacher's gaze bore into him as he spoke, until he felt almost guilty for having gone through the experience. When he finished, he stood nervously in silence, awaiting the response.

In a low voice, Alvar gave it. "Merlin. That's who you saw."

"Merlin? Our enemy?" Somehow, that didn't seem right. "But he seemed so...I don't know. _Nice_."

"Yes, that's how he lures people in. Remember his specialty?"

"Psychic attack." A horrible realization hit the young sorcerer. "He was trying to invade my mind, wasn't he?"

Alvar nodded. "You're lucky that Morgana was there to stop him."

Balthazar shuddered, suddenly aware of just how close he'd come to oblivion. Fear choked him. He wanted to run, run and hide somewhere, but there was no place to go. "If Merlin can get to us even here, then we're not safe anywhere, are we? What if he comes back while Morgana is away?"

His master laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry so much, Balthazar. It's true that we weren't expecting him to find you, but it probably won't ever happen again. This was a once-in-a-lifetime event. First, the potion made you more open to the spirit world, and then you woke up all that power inside you."

"So this happens to everyone when he activates his ring?" He tried to take comfort in the thought that it wasn't so unusual a thing to be tested so soon by the enemy.

Unfortunately, he'd missed the point. Alvar went on. "No. I said the power inside you. _You_, Balthazar. Don't you know what you've done?"

"No, sir." He was utterly baffled.

"You changed the ring. You didn't just activate it. You turned it into something entirely new, something that's completely part of you, as if it were created that way straight out of the earth. The ring's history begins with you."

"I still don't understand. Is that special?"

"Very. Only the strongest sorcerers can drive out the traces of their ring's previous owners. We like to use those from sorcerers before us, because the traces of their power add to our own. A ring from a human, or a new one made by a human, doesn't add anything useful." He flashed a sudden smile. "It didn't make any difference in your case, though. You've molded your piece in your own psychic image. That's how we know you're one of the elite."

"What does that mean, being elite?"

"It means you'll someday be able to take on the apprentices of Merlin himself. He personally trains only the best, unless we get them first."

Something had been niggling at the back of Balthazar's mind. Now, finally, he figured out what it was. "You called me by name," he burst out in surprise. It was the first time that any Morganian had so addressed him, but it was only now that he recalled its previous absence.

"You're officially one of us now. Once you take the oath with me after dinner, you'll officially be my apprentice. I'm looking forward to it."

"So am I," agreed the newest member of the team. He felt much better now.

* * *

The rest of the team wasn't quite so sanguine. At dinner, Balthazar found himself snubbed by his fellow students. Their resentment from the previous day might have died down, if not for the reminder today that he was destined to be set apart from them. His first day as a sorcerer, so far, left him feeling no different from when he'd had to dig a new treasure pit away from the children of Portsmouth.

The oath of apprenticeship didn't require witnesses, much to Balthazar's relief. He, Alvar, and Morgana were the only ones who stayed inside after the midday meal.

It was a simple ritual. Alvar stood in the center of the pentagram, the lines of which were traced in a low-burning red fire. Balthazar stepped carefully over the flames to join him, while Morgana watched from her balcony.

"I am Alvar," intoned the master. "I have sworn my first loyalty to Morgana la Fey, and do hereby swear it again. I am physician, scout, and warrior in her cause." He gestured to his companion to follow his lead.

"I am Balthazar. I do hereby swear my first loyalty to Morgana la Fey. I am a warrior in her cause, and will serve her in whatever capacity I may."

"I do swear to teach you, Balthazar, the ways of sorcery to the best and fullest of my ability, until I can teach you no more. I am your master, and you are my apprentice."

"I do swear to listen and obey until I can learn no more. You are my master, and I am your apprentice." He bowed his head to show his subservience.

When he looked up again, he matched his master's smile with his own. The red fire burned a little higher. Alvar's voice was warmer, too. "Welcome to the family, lad. You're my first apprentice, so we both have some learning to do. We're in this together now."


	4. Blake

**Chapter Four**

They spent the afternoon on the training floor, taking advantage of the time before they would have to share it with the other apprentices on the following day. During a short rest period, Balthazar wondered at the emptiness of the manor. "Where does everyone go? What is there to do here besides train?"

"Not a lot," Alvar confessed. "This is a military school, after all. One day a week is plenty of free time. Sometimes, a student will spend the day catching up on training or studying an area in which he's weak. Sheridan's most likely to do that, since nobody else likes to study more than he has to. There's a stream at the bottom of the hill behind the servants' quarters. We didn't go down that far, but you can go fishing there if you like. Better fish a little upstream, though, closer to the paddocks. The water's cleaner. On a good day, one of the masters will take his boys out to see if they can find any humans that Ammon hasn't scared away. That's the excuse they give, anyway." He shrugged. "Or you could just come up with something on your own."

"What do you do?"

"I've done all of the above, as a student. Once I paid the release price, I chose to leave, like almost everyone else does."

Balthazar was confused. "But you said you were already a physician when Morgana found you. How old were you?"

"You remember that, eh? Yes, I was an adult when I first came here almost ten years ago. My sorcerer training was somewhat concentrated because of that."

"And then you left?"

"Yes. I wasn't ready to set up a satellite outpost in the network, or take on an apprentice of my own. So I became a scout. When I found Bram and Sheridan, I brought them back and gave them to other masters. I didn't stay. I left headquarters, but it's always been my home base."

"So why did you stay for me?"

Alvar didn't answer. Instead, he stood and pulled his new apprentice to his feet. "Rest period's over. Back to work."

* * *

"So," Cassius began when the boys had retired to their quarters for the night, "You must think you're something pretty special, huh?"

His tone was casual, but Balthazar heard the warning behind it. It was an accusation for which no denial would be considered good enough. He shook his head and denied it anyway. "No." He pulled off his tunic to change into the shift he wore for bed.

While the others watched, Cassius strode forward to stand directly in front of their youngest member. He grabbed the shift out of Balthazar's hand, tossing it onto the bed with a contemptuous sneer. A hard push sent its owner tumbling down on top. Cassius loomed there by the bedside. When he spoke again, the casual air was gone. "I'm the leader here, understand? You're nobody. Maybe the masters think you're special, but I don't. You'll get no preferential treatment from any of us." He swept his arm to include the other boys in his statement. "We're your betters until I say otherwise, and don't you forget it." He turned away without another word.

The tension, and the hostility, were almost palpable. They all climbed into bed in silence. Balthazar lay awake for long hours, staring up into the darkness and feeling very much alone.

* * *

Jerome's class provided a delightful respite from battle. The teacher introduced his new pupil to the world of literature via the Book of Incantations, starting with the illustration labels. As the days went on, Balthazar found that he had an affinity for books and languages. The Spell Book was soon filled with words, along with the illustrations already there. Jerome was especially proud of his latest student. Unfortunately, his doting only added to Balthazar's peer troubles.

A plasma bolt knocked Alvar's apprentice not just out of the pentagram, but clear back into the wall.

"That was a little harder than it needed to be," chided Ewert.

Bram shrugged. "Sorry, Master" he replied, not sounding sorry at all.

Balthazar climbed back onto his feet, fuming. He was getting tired of the chilly attitudes he'd been experiencing from the other boys. It wasn't his fault that the teachers liked him, he reasoned. After all, he was only trying to be a good student and learn as quickly as he could, so he wouldn't need those teachers to spend extra time with him at the others' expense. Why didn't they appreciate that?

Bram shot again, but this time his target was ready. At the last second, Balthazar dove to one side, sending a raging torrent of fire toward his opponent as he moved. Bram yelped and jumped back. He would have been incinerated, but Master Ewert moved his hand at lightning speed to throw up a shield of protection. The fire died away. The two apprentices glared at each other.

From the side, Alvar spoke quietly but sternly. "Balthazar."

"Yes, Master." There was something strange about the master's tone, and Balthazar felt suddenly afraid.

"You have used deadly force without cause against a fellow Morganian. You know that's forbidden."

"I...I'm sorry. I was angry. It won't happen again."

"Come with me."

Unnoticed, Bram watched them go with a smile of vindictive satisfaction.

* * *

Alvar led his charge to the left of the training floor, through one of the arches in the wall. Before the masters' study was a plain stone floor where the two sorcerers stopped. Alvar's ring glowed red, and from the floor appeared the outline of two adjoining doors. They opened like window shutters, soundlessly, to reveal steps leading down to a hidden, torchlit room.

Balthazar shuddered. This couldn't be good. His master nudged him forward, following closely until they reached the bottom of the steps, then closed the doors above them.

No, this wasn't good. Ahead were two stone pillars set about eight feet apart and standing six feet high. Near the top of each, a hole had been drilled, through which a stout chain passed. The chain fell past a peg halfway down the outside of the pillar, but was held up by a manacle on the inside end, too large to fit into the hole.

"Take off your tunic," the master commanded, and Balthazar dared not disobey. The room was cold, but his shivers weren't due to the temperature. He was ushered between the pillars. As the manacles slipped over his wrists, they contracted until they bit into his flesh. Alvar pulled the chains taut on either side, hooking a link over the peg to keep it secure. Then he moved back toward the steps, out of sight.

Balthazar heard a rustle of movement behind him. He smelled well-oiled leather. The sound of serpentine movement made him crane his neck to try to discover the source. It was no use. He couldn't turn far enough to see.

Alvar spoke dispassionately. "This is your first offense, which means you get the minimum punishment: ten lashes. Take it like a man, or there will be more. I take no pleasure in this, so don't make me give you more."

When it was over, the manacles expanded until they easily came off. Balthazar fell to his knees. His head was bowed, and his body shook with sobs, but he made no sound. Red stripes marred his naked back. Alvar's voice came again, but this time it was unexpectedly gentle. "Come upstairs when you're ready. I'll have a servant waiting for you in the bathhouse. After you get cleaned up, he'll have some salve for your back. You're excused for the rest of the day."

* * *

Bedtime found Balthazar already curled up on his bed of straw, his blanket pulled up only to his waist, when the other apprentices returned to the students' quarters. He lay facing the nearer wall, wide awake, letting the cool air soothe his broken skin. It was still smeared with salve, but he couldn't tell whether it helped. He couldn't bear the touch even of his linen shift tonight.

"There he is," said Bram. "Guess he wasn't hungry, huh?" They laughed, but Bram wasn't finished. "What's the matter, _King Balthazar_? Were you expecting us to bring you your supper?"

"Leave me alone," Balthazar replied without turning.

"Ooh, arrogant little king, isn't he? That's why he was punished today." He sniffed. "Hey, king, you stink." He poked the object of his mockery in the back.

Balthazar bit his lip, hard, to keep from crying out at the pain. He couldn't stop his body from reacting, however. His back arched, and he rolled involuntarily away from his tormentor, ending up on the floor with his legs tangled hopelessly in his blanket.

The others laughed uproariously. When they calmed down, Sheridan pointed out, "That's medicine smell. He got medicine. We never got medicine when we were punished." Apparently, it mattered not at all that the physician hadn't been present when the older boys were punished. This was just another excuse to resent the new boy.

Cassius made a decision. "All right, your highness. Get out until you wash that stink off. We can't sleep with that smell." He opened the door of the longhouse. "Out. Now."

Balthazar managed to free his legs. He stood and wrapped the blanket around his waist. In bare feet, and mustering as much dignity as his situation allowed, he marched out into the cold night. The door slammed shut behind him.

Where to go from here? he wondered. There wouldn't be water in the bathhouse until a servant brought it in the morning. The manor was locked for the night, not that he wanted to get any closer to the dreaded downstairs room anyway. He wandered past the building to the other side. There were the stables, with the attached carriage house that also served as a shed.

A memory brought a smile to his lips. He made his way to the shed, in which was housed the wagon that brought him to this place. He conjured a small fireball for light and warmth as he entered the room. It showed two wagons, one for estate use and one to take out on scouting missions. An empty space beside them was for Nestorio's vehicle. Bales of hay and saddle blankets rested nearby. He tossed some into the back of the scouts' wagon, arranged them to his liking, and crawled into his new makeshift bed. The fireball was extinguished. He slept well, all things considered.

* * *

Balthazar woke, shivering and disoriented, to the touch of a hand on his shoulder. The hand withdrew, and he took a moment to shake off his grogginess before focusing his eyes on the person who had made the brief contact.

Blake stood at the side of the wagon next to the bed. In one hand, he held up a lamp that cast a dim light on both of the shed's occupants, while leaving the rest of the room cloaked in the gray gloom of dawn. He said nothing, but his face showed the question he didn't ask.

"Oh, Blake" noted the still-sleepy Balthazar, yawning. "Good morning. What time is it?" He tried to stretch, but caught himself when a jab of pain lanced through his back "Ouch. I'd almost forgotten about that." The salve had done a marvelous job overnight. He was still sore, but no longer incapacitated.

"It's a little after six, sir."

The sound of his voice was unexpectedly startling. Balthazar had grown used to silence from all the servants, since he hadn't heard any of them speak in front of him. He shook his head, laughing to himself. What had he thought, that Blake would drag in a sundial to show him the time? "Breakfast" he concluded. That was where everyone else would be right now.

The servant bowed and turned toward the door.

"Hey, wait!" Balthazar cried. "Where are you going?"

Blake turned back, puzzled. "To bring you your meal, sir. Was that not your order?"

"No, I wasn't ordering anything." He sat up slowly, mindful of his back, and shivered again. "It's freezing in here."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"It's not your fault." He unwrapped the blanket around his waist, stood carefully, and tied it over his shoulders like a mantle. On cold-numbed feet, he tottered to the back end of the wagon. "Help me down, please" he requested. It looked like a big jump to the ground.

Blake reached up a steadying hand. Balthazar took it, grateful for the firm support. When he stood on the floor of the shed, he looked back at the saddle blankets and hay strewn inside the wagon. "Thank you" he told his assistant. "I have to go now, but I'll be back as soon as I can to put everything away."

"I'll take care of it, sir."

"No. I made the mess, and I'll clean it up."

"As you wish, sir."

"Would you please stop calling me 'sir'? My name is Balthazar."

"I know, si..." He tried again. "I know, Master Balthazar. We're not permitted to be too familiar with the masters. We must show proper respect."

"I'm no master. I'm just an apprentice."

"All sorcerers are masters to us."

This gave the young sorcerer pause. He'd been taught to respect his elders, with no regard to their status in life. That they would see him as their superior was an alien concept, one that made him uneasy, almost guilty. "Please, just call me Balthazar" he said. "I won't think you're being disrespectful."

"The other masters will."

"Well, just when we're alone, then, all right? I won't tell anyone if you don't."

Blake looked at him for a long moment, considering. Then he nodded. "As you wish...Balthazar."

* * *

The morning passed quickly. After a hurried dinner, Balthazar excused himself and returned to the shed. The wagon was just as he had left it. He commenced his self-appointed cleanup, checking when he was done to make sure that all was put right. He nodded to himself, then turned to head back to the manor for his afternoon training class.

Blake stood in the doorway connecting the shed to the stables beyond. He had his arms folded, a look of mild surprise on his face.

Balthazar grinned at him. "I told you I'd come back."

"Yes, you did," Blake agreed. "I was giving you until tonight before I took care of it myself, but I honestly wasn't expecting you to return. You didn't have to."

"I keep my word."

"But I'm only a human. The masters have no obligation to us. They can do whatever they please."

Serious now, Balthazar told him, "Not this master. I want to earn your trust." Somehow, that was important. "Would you mind if I come back here to visit sometimes? Mostly Fridays, I guess. That's our free day."

"Whatever you like, sir... uh, Balthazar. We don't have free days, but I'll try to finish my work early when you visit."

"I'll help you." He cut off the other's protest. "I know I don't have to. I want to." With that, he took off for the manor, where his master waited to begin their afternoon session.

* * *

Blake was pleasant company. He was reticent at first, but as the weeks, and then months, passed and his new assistant willingly obeyed him as a master, the older man gradually let down his guard. They exchanged stories they'd heard or experiences they'd had over the years. As Spring drove out the dreariness of Winter, the pair spent many an afternoon down at the stream fishing, where Balthazar learned things he hadn't needed to know by the seashore. Blake reminisced on his years of service at Morgana's compound. "I've been here most of my life," he mused, "Since I was younger than you are now. I've seen sorcerers come and go. It's pretty quiet now, but there were times you could barely keep up with all their demands. We've lost quite a few masters in the war."

"I like it quiet," Balthazar admitted. "I wouldn't be able to get away from everyone if there were too many other sorcerers around." The grounds were spacious, but not extensive.

"You're not hiding, are you?"

"No, not really. I've told Master Alvar that I try to stay away from the other students, which is true. He didn't say I couldn't, so it's okay."

"Does your master know that you help me with my work?" They'd been careful to keep that help out of the sorcerers' sight. It wasn't easy, particularly with Ammon the horse master being as keen an observer as he was.

"No. I don't think he'd let me if he knew." This grieved Alvar's apprentice, but there were certain things that needed to be kept secret, even from his own master.

* * *

On the far side of the stream, a little way up the wooded slope that rose from the embankment, a level area had been cleared. Blake took his new friend to see it. A half dozen low, oblong mounds of dirt were laid out there side by side, each ringed with small stones and crowned with a larger flat stone near one end. The large stone was inscribed with two lines in the shape of a cross. "This is where we bury our dead," the old servant said. "It's the only way any of us ever leaves, except the children."

It was a somber place, and Balthazar wasn't sure he should ask, but he was too curious to let that comment pass. "What do you mean, Blake? You can't leave when you want to? And what _about_ the children? Where are they?" Come to think of it, he hadn't seen anyone younger than himself since he'd arrived.

"We can't leave." He fingered the amulet on its short chain around his neck. "This doesn't come off. If we try to run away, the masters find us and punish us." He sighed."The children... Our number is limited. When there's a baby, one of the masters takes it away, outside somewhere. He's gone the entire day. We don't know what happens to the child, but the master comes back alone. It's hard on us, especially the women. We've stopped having children because of it."

"That's horrible." Balthazar glanced down at the graves again. "What about when someone dies? Are you allowed to keep a baby then?"

"No, not even then. The masters take away our little ones, but they bring back replacement workers when they need to, generally about your age. Hannah was brought in only a year before you came, to replace old Eleanor there when she died." He pointed to the last mound on the right. "I expect I'll be next, unless there's an accident where Morgana can't reach us in time. She likes to keep her workers healthy, but even she can't stop old age. Except for herself, of course. Don't know how she does it. I guess it just goes with being the top sorcerer around."

"How old _is_ Morgana?"

"I don't know. Older than I am. She's looked the same as long as I can remember."

Balthazar absorbed this information in thoughtful silence. After a few moments, he spread his hands as if in blessing over the graveyard. "Are there any sorcerers here?" he asked with unspoken dread.

Blake shook his head. "No. This is only for humans. Sorcerers, if we're able to retrieve their bodies at all, are burned."

The youngest sorcerer shuddered. "Let's go back now," he suggested. He didn't want to think about death anymore.

* * *

"Why don't you let them leave?"

The accusation in his student's voice was apparent. Alvar scowled in displeasure. "Who?"

"The humans. You call them servants, but they're not. They're really slaves."

"How did this subject come up? Who have you been talking to?"

Balthazar was angry, but not so much that he didn't recognize the warning. He backed off. "Uh, nobody. I've just been watching them. Nobody ever leaves."

His master stared at him through narrowed eyes, making it quite clear that he didn't believe the lie. When no further explanation came, he reached out a hand, grasping at the air. Balthazar felt an invisible rope drag him forward, until the master's hand clenched his jaw and pushed his head back so that he could see only the ceiling. Alvar asked again. "Who?" He waited, but his captive said nothing. "I could force an answer, you know," he pointed out. "I'd rather you give it to me yourself. It will be less damaging. Here, I'll show you."

Icy tendrils pricked the edges of Balthazar's mind. They began to press inward steadily, inexorably, stabbing into him like a ring of spears around a trapped animal. He fought against a rising panic. He gulped, his resistance crumbling. He felt the master's iron grip relax and fall away. The tendrils vanished. When he looked down again, his anger had changed into confused frustration. "I'm sorry," he managed. He gave an abbreviated account of his visit to the graveyard. At the conclusion, he rephrased his first question, this time without the accusatory tone. "Why, Master? Why do we keep them here if they don't want to stay?"

Alvar studied him in silence for a few long moments, appraising him. He answered carefully. "This is the servants' home. They have everything they need right here. They have no reason to leave."

"Have you asked them about that?"

"You're testing my patience, apprentice. That is not wise."

"I'm sorry," Balthazar said again. "It's just...it's not right."

"It's not for you to say what's right, or for me to say, either. Morgana decides. Stop worrying about the humans, lad. They're treated well enough. You would do better to stop spending so much time with them, and more time practicing your magic."

"Yes, sir." Balthazar let it drop. His master could have commanded him outright to stay away from the humans, but he hadn't. Pushing the issue just might make him change his mind.


	5. Two fewer residents

**Chapter Five**

Summer drew near, and Cassius grew impatient with his lessons and practice sessions. He was eager to be gone: all he needed was the opportunity.

One night after supper, Morgana held a meeting in the master's study. Alvar, Karl, and Ewert were invited. "Bring Cassius, too," she told Karl.

When they were assembled, the leader began without preamble. "Nestorio has informed me that he's found a Merlinian suitable for the test. He's isolated from other sorcerers. Perhaps he thought he'd escape our notice." Her lips formed a grim smile. "He has a wife and a daughter of marriageable age." She peered intently at Cassius as she spoke, gauging his reaction.

What she saw pleased her. Cassius, already looking forward to his chance to obtain the required Merlinian ring, now had a hunger in his eyes that he couldn't have concealed if he wanted to. "I'm ready," he assured her.

She nodded. "I see that. Karl, you and your apprentice will leave first thing tomorrow morning. It's a three-day ride northeast, so you can pack accordingly. Alvar, you'll be taking over the training of his other two while he's gone..."

Alvar wasn't looking at her. He was staring at the floor as if he hadn't heard.

"Dismissed," she told the others. After they left, she addressed Alvar again. "Is there a problem?"

"No, Morgana."

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm sorry. I'll fill in for Karl while he's gone."

"That's not what's bothering you. It's the family, isn't it?"

"The man is a fool. Sorcerers should know better."

"Yes, they should," she said slowly. "Love has no place in our world."

"Yes, Morgana."

"You can go now."

She watched as he exited the room, the expression on her face unreadable.

* * *

"Where are all the sorcerer girls?" asked Balthazar the next day.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well..." Balthazar's cheeks reddened, and he looked away.

Alvar guessed what had happened. "Was Cassius talking about girls last night?"

His student's reaction confirmed it. "They all were. It made me really uncomfortable. They laughed at me."

"Mm-hmm. I'm sorry you had to hear that, and I'm afraid it's only getting started. Just do your best to ignore it." That was hardly satisfactory, but it was all he could offer. At least Cassius himself was gone for a while, and Alvar could exert a measure of discipline on Karl's other two apprentices Sheridan and Rolph while he was their temporary master.

"To answer your question, there aren't any sorcerer girls-at least, none to speak of. Morgana is an exception."

"No girls? Why not?"

"We just haven't found many. The ones we do find are either Merlinians already, or they didn't know about sorcery at all. Either way, we can't let them go."

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"But why? What if they want to join us?"

Alvar sighed. "Morgana's orders. Women are too much of a distraction. They're weaker than men, and they cause divided loyalties." After a moment, he added, "Besides, I don't think she wants the competition. She'd never admit it, but I know how women are. I've had some experience with women." He lapsed into a melancholy silence, lost in his own thoughts.

* * *

Karl and Cassius returned a week later. Their jubilance was unmistakable; the mission had been a success. They entered the manor amidst a crowd of apprentices and masters, all clamoring to know what had happened. Balthazar stood back and watched.

Morgana waited for them in the center of the pentagram. She held out a hand, palm up. With a triumphant smile, Cassius produced a ring from inside his mantle and placed it carefully in her hand. She closed her fist around it, then closed her eyes in concentration. The room fell silent.

After a few moments, she nodded and opened her eyes. She was satisfied. "Well done," she told the eldest apprentice. "You are released, Master Cassius." She allowed a round of cheering from the spectators, then continued. "You have a choice now. You may remain here at the manor, or become a scout for me, or set up your own outpost in my network of warriors. You are also free to take an apprentice of your own."

Cassius bowed in respect. He'd been coached and waiting for this moment, as evidenced by his immediate response. "I serve Morgana only and always. I choose to serve as a warrior in the network."

There was a celebratory feast that night to honor the new master. He slept in the masters' quarters, while Ammon stayed inside the manor. The following day, Cassius and Morgana spent the morning in the study, during which time no one else was permitted to enter. A servant packed two big saddlebags for the master's favorite mount. Late that afternoon, Cassius rode away from the place he'd called home for so long, never to be seen there again.

* * *

Life improved a bit under Phelan's sway. He and Bram were both sixteen, but Phelan had seniority because he'd started his training a year earlier. He was somewhat more tolerant of their youngest compatriot than Cassius had been. Balthazar was allowed to sleep in his own bed, free of any molestation worse than words. He was still outcast, but it was given expression through indifference rather than hostility. Balthazar could live with that.

One Friday morning the following Spring, Balthazar brought his Book of Incantations with him to the shed. "I need to study," he explained. "I thought that, after we finish cleaning the stalls, I could maybe teach you..."

Blake was skeptical. "What? To do spells? I'm only a human, remember? I can't do magic."

"Well, yes, I know, but I thought...you could learn to..." He looked around as if searching for spies, then whispered, "_read_."

"That's forbidden. You'll get punished for sure."

"Not if nobody finds out. As far as anybody knows, I'm just out here studying on my own while you're busy doing what you normally do."

"You're taking a big risk, Balthazar. Are you sure you want to do this?"

Blake had a good point. Balthazar winced, remembering the sting of the lashes he'd received in the downstairs room. Any further offenses would earn him many more lashes. "Only if I'm caught," he reminded them both. "You're my friend, Blake. Friends help each other, right? You've taught me things. I want to teach you what I can, too."

Thus began their lessons. They were peaceful, happy times, tinged with just a bit of exhilaration from the danger of discovery. Blake didn't have his tutor's gift for linguistics, but he was a competent learner nonetheless. They added writing to the agenda.

* * *

Balthazar had underestimated his master, however. After supper one evening, Alvar called his student into the study while the dining hall emptied out. "You've been keeping to yourself a lot since you joined us" he began. "Do I guess rightly that you plan to take your Spell Book with you again tomorrow, to _study_ out in the carriage house?"

Balthazar fidgeted. The warning bells were going off in his head. "Yes, sir" he managed in little more than a squeak.

"And do I also guess rightly that the servant Blake will be there with you for much of that time?"

"Well, he...he is in charge of the stables, sir. He's supposed to be there." It was a lame response, and they both knew it.

Alvar glared. "Do you take me for a fool, apprentice?"

"N-no, sir."

The glare intensified until its object felt as if he would melt from the heat of it. Then, abruptly, the master turned away. His hands were clenched together behind his back, stiff with tension. They relaxed slowly. When Alvar spoke again, still facing away from his terrified pupil, his voice was no longer angry, but kind, though heavy with sadness as well. "Balthazar, I'm not blind. I've seen how the other boys treat you, even now under Phelan. I can't interfere with that, for your own good, but I know it hurts."

Balthazar lowered his gaze to the floor. He didn't know what to say.

Alvar faced him now and continued. "You know I don't want you getting close to a human. Sorcerers shouldn't have any emotional attachments, but especially not to humans. They're weak, and they make the sorcerer weak, too."

"Yes, sir."

"You consider Blake a friend, don't you?"

Balthazar couldn't deny it. He said nothing.

"And you take your Spell Book out there every time you visit. One could draw conclusions from that..."

The fear was back. Balthazar looked up into his master's face, his eyes wide, dreading what he knew would come next.

It didn't come. Alvar held up a hand. "No. I won't ask, and I don't want you to tell me. I would probably have to punish you if you did. I told you I take no pleasure in that, and I meant it." He shook his head. "You will leave your Spell Book in the classroom from now on. If you need to study, do it there. That's all I'm going to say about it."

A warm surge of gratitude swelled in Balthazar's heart. Blake wasn't his only friend, after all.

There were other books in the manor, smaller ones that could be hidden under a student's cloak. It wasn't exactly disobeying, but Balthazar felt guilty taking one with him nonetheless. He was unwilling to abandon their lessons entirely, but they became both shorter and less frequent. It was an uncomfortable choice between letting down his master and disappointing his best friend. Finally, he took to carrying only his own paper and pens out to the shed. Blake could practice writing, copying what Balthazar wrote, even when he was alone. Progress was necessarily slowed, but at least it continued.

* * *

In the autumn of Balthazar's third year at the compound, Phelan was sent with his master to acquire a Merlinian ring. This time, the quest had a different outcome.

Ewert rode slowly, alone, through the ironbound gateway and up the hill to the courtyard. His right arm hung limply at his side. The horse's reins, gathered in his left hand, he gave to Ammon, who reached up to help the man dismount. The rest of the sorcerers stood nearby in grave silence.

Morgana joined them. Her eyes met those of the wounded master, but she said nothing. She'd already been informed about what had happened. It was up to Ewert to tell the others.

"The Merlinian had help" he said with a sigh. "His old master came back to visit. It must have been just before we got there. We had no warning." A brief, ironic smile flashed across his face. "Phelan got his man, but not the ring. I had to collect that after it was over." From under his mantle, he drew forth not one, but three sorcerer rings. "Phelan's and those of the enemy." He gave them all to Morgana.

She used them to confirm Ewert's account of the battle. When she was satisfied that he told the truth, she passed the rings back to him. "We've lost a good soldier," she noted. "We honor his name." She laid a hand upon his sagging right shoulder. They both stiffened as a soft white light flowed from her hand to envelope the master's arm. It rippled and sank into his flesh. Then Morgana stepped back, her work finished. Ewert's arm was healed.

* * *

Bram did not take his colleague's death well. He and Phelan had trained together under Master Ewert ever since he'd arrived at the compound. Morgana had lost a soldier, but Bram had lost a friend. He let his anger seethe. It showed in the brutality of his training exercises, the golem fights and hunts outside, and in his severity with the junior apprentices now that he was in charge. Balthazar was the unlucky target of most of that severity.

To escape the harassment, Balthazar started to actively avoid his elder classmates whenever possible. The masters kept their students from doing any serious damage to each other during the lessons, but unsupervised times provided plenty of opportunities for mischief. After the youngest sorcerer found a charcoal-drawn snake in his bed, again, he began to sleep in the wagon on a regular basis, despite the chill of Winter fast approaching. In the morning, he waited until the others were finished in the bathhouse before he entered to be sure there were no more "accidental" slips or pushes. That made him perpetually late for breakfast, sometimes too late. He told himself it would only be for one more year. Bram would become a master then, surely, and leave the estate for good. Once Sheridan took charge, things had to get better.

Meanwhile, he grew to value Blake's friendship more and more. He considered the old servant his equal, his confidante, his superior in practical wisdom-closer to him than anyone since his mother. Much as he appreciated Master Alvar, every sorcerer here had sworn his first loyalty to Morgana. That took precedence over everything else. Balthazar had yet to realize how serious was that oath that he, too, had taken.

One day when snow filled the air and blew along the ground in search of a place to settle, the stable door opened unexpectedly while Balthazar was busy helping to feed the horses. Alvar stood there in the middle of the open doorway, a dark silhouette against a swirling white background. "What are you doing here?" he asked his apprentice. He didn't sound surprised.

Balthazar froze in place. He glanced across the room at Blake, who also stood motionless and silent. "Uh..." he started.

The master spared him from trying to think of something that sounded reasonable. It wouldn't have fooled him anyway. Instead, he commanded something far worse. "Get back to the manor. Now. You will not enter this building, or the carriage house, again except by a master's orders. You're a sorcerer, not a servant. It's time you started acting like one." For good measure, he also had a word of reproach for the servant. "You know better than this, Blake. I should have you punished for allowing this disgrace."

Balthazar, afraid for his friend, blurted out, "No, please, Master. I made him do it. He didn't want to, but I ordered it. It's my fault."

Alvar cast a baleful eye on him. "I gave _you_ an order, apprentice." He pointed back toward the manor. "Go."

With one last, despairing look at his fellow laborer, Balthazar bowed his head and shuffled outside. He felt his master's hand clamp down hard on his shoulder as he passed, guiding him straight across the courtyard to the manor's front door.

In the privacy of the study, Alvar had more bad news. "I'm going away tomorrow, Balthazar. Morgana is sending me out on another scouting tour of duty. Karl will be your new master until I get back this time next year."

"What? You're leaving me? For a whole year? But why? I thought Nestorio was still scouting."

"He is. We need more people, though. We're down to four apprentices, which is dangerously low." He looked as if he was about to add something else, but then decided against it.

This was devastating. Without his master, and without his friend, Balthazar felt his world starting to crumble into sheer misery. In a voice barely above a whisper, he pleaded, "What can I do, Master? Could Morgana send someone else? I need you here."

"I'm sorry." Master Alvar sounded like he meant it, too. "It's for the best." That wasn't quite so convincing.

He left the following morning, and Balthazar was alone once again.


	6. Escape and its consequences

**Chapter Six**

Bereft of the refuge of the wagon at night, of a place to continue his lessons with Blake on Friday, and of Alvar's protection during the day, life for the displaced apprentice grew nearly unbearable. Karl was a much harsher master than Alvar had been. Besides that, with three students, he didn't have as much time to devote to each one. He had a different teaching style, with more emphasis on offensive tactics than on defensive ones. He also didn't mind if his pupils got a few bruises along the way. Balthazar, being unpopular already, got more than a few. However, he was learning how to hit back with more control now. His skill and power grew even as the ache of loneliness grew inside him. He came to a decision.

A few weeks after the departure of his first master, Balthazar excused himself early from a Tuesday dinner on the pretext of needing to visit the bathhouse. He left the manor, but upon his exit, he hurried instead in the opposite direction of the bathhouse, toward the stables. He didn't go in-that would be disobeying orders-but ran to the paddocks behind, where the horses were out for a few hours of exercise. He leaned against the fence, calling out just loudly enough, he hoped, for his intended audience to hear. "Blake! Blake, come outside in back! It's me, Balthazar!"

When the servant's bald head appeared through the doorway, the sorcerer breathed a sigh of relief. He beckoned the man to come closer. Blake, with a delighted smile, flipped up the hood of his winter cloak and stepped outside. He met Balthazar at the fence, out of sight of the manor if anyone should happen to look this way. "Master Balthazar," he greeted. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too, Blake."

"But why are you here? You're going to be in big trouble if someone sees you."

Balthazar leaned closer and said in a low, conspiratorial voice, "I'm leaving, Blake. I'm quitting my apprenticeship here. I'm going to run away, this week. I want you to come with me."

The old servant couldn't hide his shock. "No, Balthazar! You can't go. I mean, how? They'll catch you! And even if they don't, where would you go?"

"It's all right. I've got it all figured out. We leave on Thursday night, right after supper or whatever Ammon has us doing that day. We'll have all day Friday before anyone misses us."

"But there's the wall, and Ammon will track you down."

"Oh, the wall." Balthazar dismissed that concern with a flick of his wrist. "That's for humans and animals. Any sorcerer can open the gate from the inside." Only authorized Morganians could open it from the outside, in order to give one more obstacle to potential Merlinian attackers. "We'll take the two fastest horses, so they won't catch us even if they know which direction we've gone. Then, when we get to a town, we'll sell them and go on foot or something." Concealment on foot was much better than standing out on horseback.

"Which town, Balthazar? Do you know where you want to go?"

He nodded. "Yes, I do. I'm heading back to Portsmouth. I want to find Master Alvar, and that's where he found me. I'm going to ask him to pay the release price for me, so I can stay with him. If he's not there, I'll have to go on without him. Either way, I'm getting you out of here." He paused, then asked, "How do you feel about sailing across the Sea?"

"The Sea, sir?"

"To find my mother. You'd like my mother, Blake."

"I'm sure I would." Then he shook his head sadly. "I wish I could go with you, but it's not possible. Someone has to take care of the horses here. Besides that, there's the amulet."

Balthazar was determined. "It is possible," he insisted. "We'll get that thing off you just before we go, I promise." As for the horses that were meant to stay, he'd worry about that detail later. "I have to go to class now. Karl will be waiting for me."

* * *

Now that his decision had been made, the next two days couldn't go by fast enough. Thursday afternoon was a lesson in fighting from horseback, with weapons the students had crafted themselves at the smith workshop. Balthazar had a short sword, with which he was competent but not expert. Rolph was the better soldier. It was a busy, tiring day, which meant a sound sleep for the combatants and their teacher. Balthazar was counting on that.

He lay awake that night until he was sure that his fellow apprentices were asleep. In the darkness, he groped inside his foot locker for the bundle of clothes and fruit he'd saved from the last few meals. It wasn't much, but it was enough to get them through at least the first day. With the hood up on his mantle, he slipped quietly outside.

It was a cloudy night, with light from neither moon nor stars to guide him. No light emanated from the shutters of the manor or of the masters' longhouse, so that he chanced a tiny fireball. His heart pounded with eagerness or anxiety, for he felt them both in equal measure. He padded across the courtyard to the stables.

Inside, Blake was packing the saddlebags of two fine steeds. A younger slave held an oil lamp, shielded by his body from the doorway. Both looked more nervous than anything else. They heard the door open, and turned quickly to see who was there. The fireball was invisible to them, but a short dark silhouette gave away the identity of the new arrival. "Balthazar," sighed a relieved Blake. "This is Theo." He indicated his companion, who bowed his head. "He'll be taking over the care of the stables. But what if one of the masters wants to go out riding tomorrow? He'll see that two of the horses are missing."

That was indeed a niggling worry, but Balthazar tried to stay optimistic. "If he does, it won't be until after breakfast. We'll be long gone by then. And if he doesn't, we'll have all day to travel without being followed." He hoped.

"Do we have light?" Blake asked. The last thing they needed was for one of their mounts to stumble in the dark.

For answer, the young sorcerer strode into the adjoining carriage house. When he returned, he carried two torches, as yet unlit. "We'll have to wait until we get outside the gate before we use these," he explained. He handed one to his friend.

Now for the amulet. There was no clasp on the chain, and it was too strong to break. Balthazar grasped the chain in his right hand, careful not to pull it too tight. The green diamond glowed. A ripple flowed through the metal links of the chain, and they stretched to many times their original length, thinning as they did so. The chain grew longer and longer, until it lay loose against the breastbone of its wearer. Blake ripped it off. "I'm free," he murmured. He handed it over to Theo, who stood nearby in wide-eyed longing.

"I'll come back for you someday," Balthazar promised the new caretaker. "I'm going to free all of you. I don't know how or when, but wait for me. I'll come back."

There was only more thing to do. "Theo," the master commanded. "Look here." He held up his glowing ring, and the slave's face went blank. "You're in charge of the stables now. You don't know where we went. You haven't seen either of us since before supper tonight. You're just filling in for Blake until he gets back from an errand. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master. I understand."

"Good. Go back to your quarters now. Sleep well until morning."

Theo left, still glassy-eyed but sure of his step, taking Blake's amulet necklace with him.

Balthazar nodded. He and Blake led their respective horses outside. They walked in the snow-dusted grass as much as they could to muffle the sound of hoofbeats. Only after they reached the gate did the pair mount up, Blake somewhat less surely due to his lack of experience. Balthazar opened the gate without a sound. Beyond lay the road, and the woods, and freedom. He grinned at his fellow fugitive. "Well, here we go."

* * *

They rode all night, with only brief stops to let the horses rest. Balthazar was full of nervous energy, but the animals were tired from their war exercises the afternoon before. Blake was suffering, also, from his long introduction to the saddle. Under the trees, without moon or stars, their two carefully held torches provided the only light to keep the horses on the path. It was slow going.

The woods were still visible behind them when the morning sun peeked over the treetops, throwing long shadows ahead of the riders. The breakfast hour would be over by now, which meant that the stables could see a sorcerer at any time. The runaways didn't have nearly as much of a head start as Balthazar would have liked.

"We need to get to a town," he told his companion. "We have to hide the horses, and we need to rest."

Blake nodded wearily. "How much farther is it? Do you remember from when you came to the estate?"

"There's nothing close. Not this way, at least. We'll have to leave the road and hope we find something in another direction. I say we go South. If nothing else, we'll at least get to the coast eventually, and I know there are towns there."

"Whatever you like, Balthazar."

They turned away from the open road, onto the wild rolling hills that stretched away into the morning mist.

They did reach the coast eventually. The horses had been sold long ago, not only because they attracted too much attention, but also to buy food and lodging in the towns and villages through which the travelers passed. Blake's hair was starting to grow back, nearly as white as the snow that covered the ground. Expecting pursuit, Balthazar stayed alert for other sorcerers. He found nothing, and that worried him.

* * *

Portsmouth looked much the same as it had three years before. Balthazar's old home had been taken over by another family, and the site of his mother's tent was bare, but his treasure pit was untouched by all but nature. Snow filled it now. He cleared the snow away to show Blake the trinkets he'd collected through the years. There were a few bits of metal left. With a smile of reminiscence, he pulled out one of the bits and turned it to gold. Blake grinned back at him.

They strolled to the dock, where a chill winter wind swept it clear of snow and townsfolk. "We'll take a ship from here," said Balthazar. "Let's find out when the next one leaves for Brittany." They moved toward a group of sailors who had just disembarked.

He almost didn't notice the wagon parked between two warehouses. A neigh of happy recognition caught his attention, and he stopped midway to his destination. "Dandy!" he shouted, spotting the bay horse that tossed its head in greeting.

He ran to the wagon, exuberant. Blake was left standing alone, out in the open, with only his hood to mask the uneasiness on his grizzled face.

Balthazar rubbed the horse's head that butted him for attention. "Dandy, it's so good to see you. Where's Master Alvar, eh? He must be around here somewhere."

"Hello, Balthazar. I've been waiting for you."

The apprentice spun. His master stood only a few feet away, wearing a strange expression that he couldn't decipher. It didn't matter. He lunged forward and flung his arms around this man who'd changed his life. After a moment's hesitation, the master returned his embrace. "I missed you so much," Balthazar told him through the tightness in his throat.

"And I you." Alvar held him tightly, then backed away to place both hands on his student's shoulders. "But you must go back. You've left Morgana's estate without her permission."

"Not without you, Master. Please, I want to stay with you. Will you pay the release price for me?"

Alvar shook his head. "No, Balthazar. I can't. You see, Morgana sent me away, not just to scout, but to keep us apart for a while." He gave a small, sad smile. "Emotional attachments are...well, let's just say they're not encouraged."

"I won't go back without you!"

"You don't have a choice." He looked over at the lone figure on the dock. "And neither does your friend Blake." He reached down to take hold of the young sorcerer's wrists. He brought them together. When he released them, Balthazar found to his horror that they were clenched in a tight pair of manacles. "I'll require your ring, as well," said the master, taking it easily from his captive's hand. He beckoned to the waiting servant. Blake obeyed the summons, and became the second prisoner. Alvar ushered them both into the back of the wagon, where more manacles clasped themselves around their ankles. "I'm taking you partway back," he informed them. "Ammon will meet us and take you the rest of the way. I still have scouting duty." He looked away from the hurt in his apprentice's eyes. "I truly am sorry."

* * *

Ammon met them on the road two days later, leading the horses that the runaways had taken. Ignoring the dejected captives, he spoke instead to his colleague. "You've done well, Alvar. I'll report your cooperation to Morgana." His tone was light, casual, as if they were discussing nothing more than the lesson for next week. "So, did you find them where you thought they would be?"

"Yes. They were looking to board a ship."

"Thinking that would be enough to escape us? That was foolish. This whole adventure was foolish." He grimaced. "Well, this will be a lesson learned, I suppose. I would have come sooner, but I had to track down our stolen horses. One more charge to bring against them."

Alvar only nodded. He disembarked and walked to the rear of the wagon. As he did, the prisoners' ankle chains released their hold, though the handcuffs remained in place. "Come on," the sorcerer said. "Time to change rides." He steadied his passengers as they climbed out, then reached inside to retrieve their belongings. He packed them into the returned horses' saddlebags. Ammon helped Blake onto one of the mounts while Alvar took care of his apprentice. Balthazar refused to meet his master's eyes, nor did he say a word to him.

"You have his ring?" Ammon put out his hand to receive it.

"Here."

Ammon pocketed the diamond ring. "Good. Now that this little trial is over, you can get back to business. Morgana will be pleased with you." He smiled, but he was the only one of them all who did.

The masters parted ways. Ammon led his prisoners away, and Alvar watched them go with heavy heart.

* * *

The horse master was in a contented mood. His hunt had ended in a capture, even if he hadn't been the one who'd caught the prey. Now he was bringing the fugitives to justice, and he relished the role he played. To drive home the futility of their attempted flight, he berated Balthazar. "Did you honestly think that leaving us would be that easy?" Though his audience merely rode in glum silence, he could see that both were listening. He went on. "We lost your trail for a little while when you left the road, but I picked it up again within a day. We could easily have overtaken you, but Morgana had a better idea."

Balthazar's interest was piqued, despite his misery. "You mean she let us go?" No wonder there hadn't been any pursuit.

Ammon chuckled. "No, but she let you think you got away. She contacted Alvar as soon as we discovered you were gone. Then, when I found your trail again and we knew which direction you were headed, she told him to be on the lookout for you. He knew you'd go back home. All he had to do was get there first and wait for you."

"I just wanted to stay with him."

"Then why did you bring the human?"

"We...we were going across the sea. To Brittany. To find my mother." That hope was gone now. "I would have come back by myself, though, if my master wanted me."

With one eyebrow raised in surprise, Ammon gave him an ironic sideways glance. "Your mother? You poor, naive child. Don't you know?"

"Know what?"

"She never made it to the far shore. We can't have family loyalty coming before our loyalty to Morgana."

"You're lying! Master Alvar paid the captain to take her across!"

"Oh yes, he paid the captain, all right-but not for safe passage."

"I don't believe you. Master Alvar wouldn't do that."

"We do what Morgana tells us to do. We follow orders. You should be grateful that your master obeyed the order to hand you over to me. Traitors and deserters are hunted down like Merlinians. He saved your life, and earned the right to reclaim you as his apprentice when he returns."

"If what you say is true, then I don't want to be his apprentice anymore." Balthazar hung his head. His eyes stung with the pain of betrayal, his mind with the endless depths of loss. They rode on.

* * *

All who dwelt at Morgana's estate, both sorcerers and servants, met them in the courtyard upon their arrival. Ammon hauled his prizes before the commander who stood waiting in the middle of the circle of onlookers. He left them there to stand beside his peers.

Morgana addressed the older prisoner first. "Blake, most senior of my servants, you have abused the trust we put in you. You have willingly participated in deceit and theft, and you have attempted to undermine my authority. You have forgotten your place. This will not be tolerated. For your presumption, you will never speak again. For running away, you will never run again. However, I can be merciful. You may keep your thieving hands, but only because my servants must be useful." She turned to Ammon. "Carry out the sentence. Let all now witness the folly of rebellion."

The hunter already had his knife in hand. Flanked by Masters Karl and Ewert, he strode forward with a look of grim determination. His companions forced the terrified old man to the ground. They held him there while Ammon did his work. Morgana herself held Balthazar in a stranglehold to keep him from interfering. When it was done, Blake lay shuddering where the masters left him. Blood poured from his mouth and from his naked feet. Ammon presented the three bits of flesh he'd severed to Morgana-a tongue and both big toes-and, upon her nod of approval, incinerated them there in his hand.

She told the rest of the servants, "Take him back to your quarters. Don't forget his boots. Then I'll expect you all to return to your duties. You are dismissed."

Balthazar hardly noticed when she let him go. He stood shaking with rage and grief, watching his best friend being half-carried away from him and leaving bloody tracks behind. It's my fault, he thought. Blake was punished because of me. How can he not hate me now, and how can I blame him? I'm sorry, I'm sorry, my friend, but sorry isn't enough.

Morgana wasn't helping matters. "You see?" she taunted. "A sorcerer should never allow himself to get close to a human. We're the superior race. We can't have inferiors thinking they're our equals." She grew more serious. "That's why I dismissed them before talking to you. You, Balthazar, have also defied me. For this, you also will be punished, but in a manner befitting a sorcerer. This time, there will be no salve to help you forget your lesson." She turned her face to their remaining audience. "Master Karl, discipline your apprentice."

* * *

He'd lost track of time. Some part of him registered that it was night, after someone pulled him by the arm up the steps from the torchlit room, thrust him outside, and commanded, "Go to bed." He stood there blindly as his tunic and cloak were pressed into his arms. Somehow, his ring was back on his finger, though he had no memory of how that had come to be. All he knew was pain: the pain of the lashes, and of his failure to protect his friend, and of his beloved master's betrayal. He staggered forward, unseeing, with no thought of where he was going. The clothes fell from his arms into the new blanket of snow that had fallen earlier that day. More flakes drifted down all around him in a silent cascade.

His feet carried him back and down past the servants' quarters. One light was still on inside, dimming or brightening through the shutter panes as the occupants passed in front of the window. He paused briefly, drawn to the light but afraid to go near. Then one of the panes opened. The backlit form of a woman appeared. She tossed a potful of water outside into the snow and reached out an arm to pull the shutter closed. Then she froze in place, and it seemed to the observer that she stared directly at him, though it was too dark to see her face. She closed the shutter. The spell was broken. He continued his lonely trek down the slope. Behind him, unnoticed, a door opened, and a figure began to follow in a slow, hobbling shuffle.

He reached the stream at the bottom of the hill. Beyond it, he realized at last, was his destination. There was a place of peace, where he could rest for just a little while, with only those who had found eternal freedom to keep him company. He stepped out onto the wet black stones.

They were more treacherous than they appeared, however. Not water, but ice, covered the stones on which he'd relied. He slipped and fell into the middle of the stream. Rocks bit into his wounded back, and he cried out in renewed agony. The pain was only momentary, though. Almost immediately, it began to fade.

The water wasn't deep here. He lay half-submerged, allowing it to soothe his body in its numbing embrace. It felt good, so good. He stared up into the night sky, at the white flakes falling toward him to add their cooling touch. He would get up in a moment to go on, just as soon as his strength returned. A moment, or maybe two...

* * *

The old servant found him there sometime later. Crawling on hands and knees, he made his way into the water to the master's still body. He dragged himself and his friend back to the shore, where he took a closer look. Balthazar's lips had gone blue, his skin pallid, his breathing shallow.

With no further hesitation, Blake stripped off his own winter cloak and wrapped it around the boy's body. He struggled to his feet, soaked and crippled though they were. Carefully, he lifted the young sorcerer into his arms and began the long climb back up the hill toward home.

* * *

Balthazar woke while it was still dark. He lay in a blissfully warm bed, covered with several layers of blankets, in a strange room that nonetheless exuded welcome. An iron pot hung over the fire near the center of the floor. From it came an aroma that made his empty stomach growl with impatience. The scent was what had awakened him.

Someone noticed his stirring. Above him suddenly loomed the face of a woman, one with a scarf to cover her head and a short necklace with an amulet pendant around her neck. She graced him with a kindly smile. "Ay, young master, I see you're awake. Ye'll pardon me for speakin' to you freely, I hope. Old Blake said yer a friend to us humans. Back when he could talk, that is."

He was thoroughly confused. "Where am I?" he asked the woman. "What happened? And who are you?" He had many more questions, but exhaustion was creeping back over him. He wanted more sleep. The other questions could wait.

"Ta answer yer last question first, I'm Lilian, Theo's woman. You've prolly seen me out takin' care of the animals, since that's my job. As for where you are, this is our humble abode. Blake and a couple others share this section with us. That's his bed yer lyin' in."

"But...what am I doing here? Where is Blake?" His stomach rumbled again.  
Lilian heard. "Ah, let me get you something ta warm up yer insides. Here, I'll help you sit up." She slipped one arm under his shoulders. Searing pain exploded at her touch, and Balthazar gasped at the reminder of his punishment. She backed away, distraught. "I'm so sorry! I forgot what they did to you, poor lad." She left him momentarily. When she returned, she held in her hand a cup of steaming liquid. "Can you lift your head a little?" she wanted to know. He managed that, and she arranged, with her free hand, a bundled blanket behind him for support. She looked down at the cup, her doubt evident in her face.

"I can hold it myself," her patient assured her. He reached out one bare arm toward her. "It smells good."

"Broth-chicken and vegetable. You shouldn't be havin' anything too heavy just yet."

"Thank you, Lilian." The broth tasted as good as it smelled. He savored the warmth that filled him, as strength slowly returned to his limbs. Midway through his second cup, he felt alert enough to continue their conversation. "Lilian, why am I here? I don't remember anything since..." How long ago had it been? "Since that morning when we came back."

She stared at the floor. "It was just yesterday you come back. After they sent us back here with Blake, none of us saw you again 'til I was throwin' away the dirty dishwater before we went to bed. You was just standin' there like you wanted to come visit, but you didn't. I told Blake you was there. He went out to see you, but you was gone by then. When he brought you back, we didn't know if you was even gonna see another mornin'. Looked like you'd fallen in the water down below. You was all cold and still. We took turns keepin' watch, Theo, Blake, and me. Blake took first watch, so I imagine he's sleepin' right now. Poor fella woulda stayed up all night with you if we'd let him."

Balthazar didn't know what to say to that. He finished his broth, deep in thought, and the woman took away the empty cup. He was still dreadfully tired. He wanted to sleep some more, sleep away the day and the memory of days already past. Nothing else mattered so much at that moment.

Lilian brought him back to reality. She had returned to his bedside, carrying a bundle of clothes in her arms. "So sorry, lad," she apologized, "but you can't stay here. The masters will be lookin' for you, and it won't do any of us any good if they find you here." She laid the bundle atop his blankets. "I brought you some dry clothes. Maybe a little too big for you, but better than nothin'. I'll send Theo in to help you dress."

Only then did he notice the leggings and boots he'd worn the day before. They were laid out on a bench against the wall, which meant... He lifted his covers enough to peek underneath. His face reddened.

Lilian saw his mortified expression and laughed. "We had to get those wet clothes off you, dear. Don't worry: we won't tell a soul." She left, still chuckling. It was the last time he would hear laughter for many years to come.

* * *

That day, and the next, were more demanding than ever. Jerome's class was a welcome challenge, where he kept his mind occupied and let his body rest. Afternoons with Karl and the other apprentices more than made up for that rest. He dreaded even the thought of Monday, when Ammon would have them outside for a full day of combat practice.

That day came, heedless of his reluctance to face it. He left the dinner table early and headed out to the stable, hoping to see his friend Blake there before the afternoon exercises began.

Theo was there instead, brushing one of the horses' manes. Balthazar greeted him, but his disappointment was clear. "Hello, Theo. Where's Blake? I haven't seen him at all since we got back. I wanted to talk to him."

The man responded in a quiet, worried voice. "He's back at our quarters, sir. He took sick that night. It's been getting worse." Anger crept into his tone. "Morgana won't help him. She says he's too old to be much use anymore." He gave an uncharacteristically strong pull on the brush, and his equine charge neighed in protest. He patted the horse's neck. "Sorry, boy."

"Blake is sick?" It wasn't a question, but a statement of realization. "How can I help?"

"I don't think you can, sir. I know he'd like to see you, though, if you can come by sometime."

"I'll be there tonight."

* * *

Theo met him at the door of the servants' quarters after the rest of the compound's residents had settled in for the night. He stepped back and nodded toward the sick man not far away. Lilian knelt there beside the bed, dabbling with a cloth at the patient's mouth and chin. The cloth came away spotted with blood.

The visitor approached with trepidation. His friend lay shaking with a cold that no amount of covering could ease. The old servant's eyes were fever-bright, and his breathing sounded labored. He coughed again, and more blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

"Blake..." Balthazar stood by his side, unable to say more.

Then the fevered eyes fixed on him, and the bloodied lips curled upward in a smile. Cold fingers grasped his hand and held it with surprising strength.

Balthazar tried to return the smile, but managed only a weak grimace instead. He forced himself to speak past the sadness that choked back his words. "You'll get better soon, Blake. You just need to rest for a while, that's all."

Nobody believed that, least of all Blake, who shook his head in sympathetic understanding. He moved his free hand over to join the one that already held the young sorcerer's fingers in its grip. He squeezed gently, his smile never wavering. Then another fit of coughing overtook him, and he had to let go.

That was just as well, for tears were threatening to overflow from Balthazar's eyes. He wiped them away while Lilian attended to the older man. Blake lay wheezing, his eyes closed as he struggled to draw breath. Finally, his body relaxed enough to let him sleep.

Balthazar asked the question to which he dreaded the response. "He's not going to get better, is he?"

Lilian answered simply, "No."

The apprentice hung his head in despair. "He saved my life. After I made him try to escape with me, and he paid the price for it."

"You didn't make him do anything, lad. He went with you because he wanted to."

"And look what's happened because of it."

Lilian put a comforting arm around his shoulders. "It's not your fault, dear," she soothed. "He'd do the same again, I know. You mean an awful lot to him."

The tears were welling up again. This time, he let them overflow.

Blake died before the week was out. Ammon had already brought a replacement on Friday, a boy only a little younger than Balthazar. The boy looked scared, even after his captor removed his handcuffs, and Balthazar felt a stirring of pity for him. He squelched it ruthlessly. He couldn't afford to open his heart to anyone else; not now, not ever again.


	7. Alvar's final choice

**Chapter Seven**

The months wore on, and the junior apprentice advanced more quickly than any of them had foreseen. He attributed his progress to a single-minded concentration on mastering everything he needed to know as quickly as possible. The other boys began to show respect, and even a little fear, of Karl's youngest student. Two more apprentices had joined their number by the time Autumn came round again, both taken under Ewert's supervision. Balthazar socialized with no one. He kept to himself, and his classmates left him alone.

When Alvar returned after his year of scouting duty was over, he made a formal request of Morgana to resume his role as Master.

She appeared to consider the request. "Perhaps it would be better for him to remain under Karl's tutelage," she mused. "He's done remarkably well this past year. You've been too soft on the boy, Alvar. I was right to send you away."

"But you promised. You said if I proved my loyalty, you'd let me continue. Have I not done so?"

She acknowledged, "You have. Very well, then. Remember, though, I can send you out again if his training lags. If that happens, you won't get him back."

"Yes, Morgana. Thank you."

There was little danger of a training lapse. Balthazar took his transfer back to Master Alvar stoically, with no visible sign that it mattered to him. He continued to put all his effort into his studies and practice. There was a wall between them now, a wall of broken trust, built out of anger and hurt and the sorrow of a loss that could never be restored. Alvar felt it, and it grieved him to his soul. Outwardly, though, he kept as stoic a face as did his apprentice.

* * *

"I thought I might find you here."

Balthazar neither turned nor answered. He was seated on a fallen log that he'd dragged to a spot in the clearing above the stream, staring ahead at the last grave on the right. Patches of snow lay on the ground.

Alvar drew nearer, but stopped when his pupil finally spoke. "Please go away. I'd like to be alone."

The master followed the direction of Balthazar's stare. "It's been just about a year now, hasn't it?" he asked, not really expecting a reply. There was no need to specify to what he was referring. After a respectful, silent interlude, he resumed the uninvited conversation. "You've been alone all day. I've come to make sure you're all right. It's nearly suppertime. Aren't you hungry?"

"I'm fine. I'm not hungry."

"That rumbling I hear gives you away. Come on, let's go back to the manor." He laid a hand on the young man's shoulder.

Balthazar jerked away. "I said I'm fine!" he insisted. He rose on stiff legs and moved to the far side of the clearing.

"Balthazar..."

"Why couldn't you let us go? We were free!"

"No." As unpleasant as it was, his apprentice had to know the truth. "You were never free. If I hadn't stopped you, we'd both be dead now, and Blake would have been no better off."

"Ammon told us what you did. Then, and before, to my mother. Why? I was willing to come back to you. Why did you have to kill her? Tell me! Why?"

"I had to. I had orders." It sounded entirely inadequate, even to his own ears, but it was the only explanation he had.

Balthazar sneered. "Orders. And you always follow orders, don't you? Even when it means killing women." The reminder was clear: _There aren't any sorcerer girls._

"Yes, I follow orders. We all do. That had better include you, too, apprentice, if you know what's good for you. Morgana doesn't take defiance well." Alvar hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but he was losing patience. He fought down his own anger. "Look," he continued more calmly, "we all have to do things we don't like sometimes. Do you think it's easy for me? I'm a physician. My dream was to heal, not to kill."

That reached Balthazar at some level. He sighed and returned to the log. When his master sat down beside him, he didn't move away. Quietly, he asked, "Why do you work for Morgana?"

Alvar took some time to corral the thoughts and emotions swirling through his head. This was a painful subject, one that he didn't like to think about, much less discuss. The stock answer, "to take our rightful place as rulers," wasn't good enough. After what he'd done to the sorcerer next to him, the boy deserved to hear the real story.

* * *

He began. "We were on our way back here, to Britain, my wife and I. We'd met in Constantinople where I was studying at the university, and we married as soon as I was finished. She'd never been far away from home. She was afraid to leave, but she came back with me anyway. Claudia: that was her name.

'It was a hard journey. She was carrying our child, but she wasn't faring well. My training could only ease her pain a little.

'A scout found us soon after we reached the north of Italy. He told me his commander, Morgana, was a magic healer who could help my wife, and that she could teach me magic, too. I wanted to be a healer, like Morgana, and I thought this was how it was to be done. My schooling, along with magic powers, had to be the secret to...well, not immortality, but at least a cure for every illness or injury. The only condition was that I had to agree to serve Morgana for the rest of my life.

'Claudia didn't like the idea, but I was willing to accept it. She needed help that I wasn't able to give. The scout sent us on, telling us that someone would meet us when we reached Britain to take us to Morgana.

'The guide did meet us as arranged. We were on the road, heading to this very compound, when a Merlinian stepped out in front of us. I didn't know anything about Merlin or his followers at the time, so I stayed back with my wife while our guide fought the enemy. The guide lost.

'The Merlinian was persuasive, I must admit. He convinced us that he'd just saved us from a life of slavery. Claudia liked him. He went on about how Merlin was the greatest sorcerer of all time, and Morgana was evil, and I should use my power to do good-once I was trained, of course. He offered to introduce me to Merlin.

'Well, I thought Merlin could heal too, if he was really the greatest sorcerer, and there was no lifetime service condition. As I said, I thought all one needed was education plus training. We went with the man.

'I was wrong about everything. Healing requires a natural talent, and Merlin didn't have it. None of the Merlinians did. They couldn't help Claudia any more than I could-less, in fact, since I had at least my physician's knowledge. They wouldn't tell me how to get to Morgana, either. They kept me away from the only person who could save my wife.

'She died in childbirth. Our son...he didn't survive.

'I left the Merlinians. I went back to the road where the battle was, and just kept walking. When I heard any of them following, I hid until they rode past. Like you, I just wanted to be left alone. I wanted nothing to do with Merlin, or even humans, anymore. I had nothing left.

'Then Ammon found me. He said that Morgana had sent him to hunt for me after we lost our guide. She was still willing to take me in, even after I'd been with the enemy. Physicians are scarce enough, and one who's also a sorcerer is a treasure worth pursuing. That's what she said.

'She trained me herself. She gave my life meaning again. Once we eliminate the Merlinians, we'll be able to set up an empire where everyone is happy. We sorcerers will take good care of our subjects, and they'll serve us willingly. We won't need fences or amulets or handcuffs anymore." He smiled to himself. "There'll be no more sickness or killing or premature dying. It will be the perfect world.

'That's why I work for Morgana."

* * *

Balthazar pondered the revelation he'd just heard. The goal sounded worthy enough, but something about it was amiss. Perhaps it was the cruelty he'd witnessed from Morgana herself. Yes, she was a healer, but she rarely used her talent. She certainly showed none of the compassion that he'd always associated with medical practitioners. It made him wonder... "Master, do you think she really would have helped your wife? She doesn't seem to like humans at all."

"Of course she would."

"But even if she did, what would happen then?"

"I don't understand what you're asking."

"Well, all the humans here are slaves." Alvar scowled in distaste at the word, but Balthazar let it stand. "Even if Morgana healed your wife, she'd have to live with the other slaves, wouldn't she? And you wouldn't be allowed to keep your baby, either. None of the other humans are allowed."

Alvar looked as if he wanted to hit his apprentice. His hands clenched into fists. Abruptly, he stood and turned away, visibly striving to maintain control. When at last he turned back, his face had become a mask that nonetheless showed subtle hints of rage. He tried to sound impassive. "I'll forgive your insolence, apprentice, because I know you're still hurting from everything that's happened. We won't mention my family again, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I'm going back to the manor now. You can come with me or not."

Balthazar was still a bit shocked at his master's angry reaction. They hadn't been on friendly terms ever since the incident at Portsmouth, but he truly hadn't meant to offend with his questions. He got up slowly. "I'll come with you, sir," he said meekly.

His reply had the desired effect. Alvar calmed somewhat. He nodded, accepting what he deemed an apology. They left the clearing together.

* * *

"Since you brought up the subject of women," the elder sorcerer said in an effort to smooth the tension they both still felt, "it might interest you to know that Merlin has acquired a new apprentice. She's a couple of years younger than you."

"Oh?" Balthazar was indeed interested. "Why would he want a girl? I thought you said they were weaker than men."

"She's one of the elite, like you, and like his older apprentice. Those are the only ones he trains himself. Now you have a choice of whose ring to go after."

"Whose ring...?" Then he remembered. He was being trained for battle against these very opponents. It was a daunting task, and one for which he felt a heavy burden of responsibility. "Which one would you choose?" he asked.

Alvar considered the matter for a beat or two. Thoughtfully, he replied, "Personally, I'd rather fight the boy. There's more honor to it, and more satisfaction when I beat him. Practically, though, the girl is the better target. Not only is she weaker than male elites, but she won't have had as much training. Anyway, you don't need to make a decision right away. You still have many years to go before that becomes an issue."

* * *

One by one, the senior apprentices completed their schooling and added to the collection of Merlinian rings. Bram and Rolph both chose to serve as soldiers, but Sheridan became the latest scout. He took Alvar's old wagon from the shed. New recruits kept their numbers stable. Balthazar, now the eldest student, enforced a cordial code of behavior among his classmates. He neither threatened nor hurt any of them, but they feared him nonetheless. They knew what he _could_ do if he so desired.

Alvar declined to take additional apprentices. Balthazar's training was intense, requiring his complete attention, in preparation for the coming test. When the younger boys could do longer offer a serious challenge, Alvar himself stepped in as dueling opponent. When he began to lose on a regular basis, he asked Karl and Ewert to replace him, to make sure he wasn't just going too easy. When even they were defeated, he knew his student was ready.

"It's time," Morgana informed him in the privacy of the masters' study. It was his student's eighth Springtime at the compound.

Alvar agreed. "Yes. Only you are still more powerful."

"You've done well since you came back from your last tour of duty. Have you overcome your weakness?"

By that, he knew she meant the unacceptable affection he felt toward his apprentice "It's...under control," was all he could admit. He'd been trying hard to stay detached, as a good Morganian master should, but never quite succeeded.

Morgana wasn't convinced. "He's not your son," she reminded him.

He winced. There was no point in denying the obvious. "I know," he said softly, "but he could have been."

"You should have had two or more apprentices," she scolded. "It's harder when you stay with only your first one. He becomes too important, and it's harder to let go."

"But you did it, with me."

"Yes, I did it. You forget, though, that you weren't my first apprentice. Ammon has that honor. Not only that, but you were already an adult when we brought you here. You were infected with human ideas and attachments. You still are. I never could drive them out of you." She shook her head. "We probably should have killed you immediately, but I wanted someone to take care of the humans so I wouldn't have to. I so detest humans."

Unbidden, the memory of that day in the clearing came back to Alvar's mind. His student's questions had been nothing more than an echo of his own. He was afraid to ask Morgana, though: afraid of the truth, and afraid of hating her if she lied. He began to doubt even the vision she'd given him of their perfect future. If Merlin was right, then the last eighteen years of his life had been wasted. He simply couldn't face that.

Morgana interrupted his thoughts. "Will you be able to do what's necessary if he fails?"

Alvar pondered the question. Morgana saw his hesitation, and her scowl showed her displeasure. "I can send someone else with him instead," she warned.

"No. I'll go. He won't fail."

"But if he does...?"

Alvar sighed. "I'll do what I have to do. As always."

* * *

Balthazar's master was quiet as they rode away from Morgana's estate on their way to enemy territory. Time had eased the hurt of years gone by, and Balthazar had come to accept what had happened with sorrow rather than continued anger. He couldn't hate his master, but his resentment of Morgana only grew. She, ultimately, was in control of all their lives.

He wondered aloud, "Will we ever be free of her?"

"Who?"

"Morgana. Must we always follow her orders, even if we choose to set up our own outpost?"

"You're thinking dangerous thoughts, lad. Best to abandon them right now. You took an oath, remember? If you break it, you'll be considered a traitor."

"But haven't you ever thought about it? How are we any better than the humans, if we're just as much in bondage as they are? They serve us, and we serve Morgana. What's the difference?"

"It's a hierarchy. We all have our places. That's the way of the world." Alvar shrugged, then continued. "Why do you ask? And what would you do if you were free?"

"I don't know. Go away somewhere, I suppose, and just live my life in peace. I wouldn't have to fight anymore." He grinned at his fellow traveler. "You could come with me if you like."

Alvar smiled in return. It did sound inviting. Then the wistful moment passed, and his dark mood returned. "That will never happen," he said with regret. "There's only one way for us to be free, and that's the same way as the humans have."

* * *

They stopped at a town nearly a week later. Alvar instructed his apprentice, "Put your hood up, and keep your ring hidden as much as possible. This is the closest human settlement to Merlin's stronghold. He sends his people here on business sometimes, and we don't want them to spot us."

"Why are we stopping here at all, then?"

"I need to talk with someone first, before we go on." At Balthazar's curious look, he explained. "We employ humans, too. They're not servants-yet-but they help us out when needed. We pay them well. We call them 'facilitators'." He gave a rueful grin. "Yes, the ship's captain at Portsmouth was one of them."

They dismounted. Leaving their horses at the local livery stable, they walked to a small, nondescript shop bordering the open market square. The proprietor, a short, balding man dressed entirely in leather, sat beside the entrance. On the opposite side of the doorway, a sampling of leather goods covered a low table, with more on the ground underneath.

The man caught Alvar's eye. "Good day, sir!" he exclaimed. "Help you find something? A new tunic? Knife sheath? New boots, perhaps?" He gave a toothy smile that was as well-practiced as it was false.

The sorcerer pretended to inspect the wares on display. "I don't see anything here to my liking."

"Oh, I have more inside! Much better than these. Come in, come in. I'll show you." He waved his customers inside.

Once there, they dropped the charade. "What news, Hannibal?" asked Alvar.

"They don't go out alone," was the discouraging response. "Merlin sends them both to escort his people to market, and they always wear the amulets."

"What about Merlin? Does he ever leave the castle?"

"Rarely. He still drives his wagon sometimes, but he never goes too far. I've never seen him come to town. He can disguise himself, but he can't hide a wagon."

"All right. When will the apprentices be here next?"

"Day after tomorrow, if the pattern holds. It's generally once a week they come."

Alvar nodded. "Is there anything else we should know?"

This time, Hannibal's smile was real. "She's a beauty."

"Thank you for the warning."

* * *

They purchased some supplies at the market, enough to make them look like innocent travelers far from their destination. On their way to add the new items to those already packed in their saddlebags, Balthazar voiced what was on both their minds. "Do we have a plan?"

Alvar didn't sound happy. "Not a good one, but yes. We'll stay here for now, but leave at dusk tomorrow so the Merlinians won't suspect anything when they arrive the following day. We'll wait for them in the forest between here and the castle. Let them come to town and do their normal routine. Then, when they've all finished their busy day at the market and head back home, feeling happy and tired and secure, we launch our attack."

"Hannibal said they always wear amulets. Will we have time to fight before they can get help? Is the castle far away?"

"Between three and four hours from here, depending on whether you have a loaded wagon. We don't, but they will. The humans will give us an advantage."

"How?"

"I told you before: humans are weak, and they make the sorcerer weak, too. Merlinians will try to protect a human who's threatened, even when doing so will hurt them. All we have to do is capture at least one human, preferably a female."

"And they'll just hand over their rings to save the human?" Weak they might be, but surely they weren't fools.

Alvar seemed to read his thoughts. "Of course not," he agreed. "We'll still have to fight, but the human will serve as a shield. I suggest that you go after the girl, while I hold off the boy using my human shield. If you can get a shield, too, so much the better."

"I don't know, Master. Is there a way to do this without using humans?" Truth be told, he'd been thinking of fighting the older apprentice, too. He'd never battled a woman before, and he didn't know how he'd react.

His master answered, "I can't think of a batter way. Can you?"

"No," he confessed.

"Well, then, we'll just have to go with this. Come on, let's find a place to stay."

* * *

Two days later, a fine Spring morning found the pair of Morganians lying low atop a gentle rise in the forest that grew alongside the road. They were down on their bellies, using their elbows for support, and covered with the debris of the forest floor which served as camouflage. The horses were tied well back on the far side of the ridge.

Balthazar peered out from under his hood. The ground was cold and wet, but he'd been on enough hunting trips that he could ignore the discomfort. He spotted their quarry in the distant northwest, a wagon laden with goods to trade, driven by a pair of peasants and escorted by a pair of cloaked figures on horseback, one on either side. "There they are," he murmured to his companion.

"I see them." They watched as the party drew near and then passed by their hiding spot. The escorts kept a constant vigil. They rode easily, confident in themselves and their abilities, wary but not concerned. The party continued unmolested on its way to market.

When they were out of sight, Alvar stood slowly, a little stiff from lying still for so long. He brushed off the camouflage. His apprentice followed his example. "So, what do you think?" he asked. "Will you be ready for them when they come back this way?"

"I believe so." It didn't seem to be too difficult a task. With a precision shot or two, he might even be able to get his prize without having to involve the humans at all.

Alvar cautioned him, "It won't be as easy as you think. Even if you do overpower one of them, will you be able to follow through?"

"What do you mean?"

"Balthazar, the enemy isn't going to give you his ring. You'll have to take it by force. And you can't leave him alive, either, or he'll be able to craft another ring later. That means you have to kill him...or her. Can you do it?"

Balthazar had wanted to avoid this subject, but he couldn't put it off forever. His master's face told him that this was a vital question, one on which everything depended. He tried to sound more confident than he felt. "Yes, of course. That's what I was trained for, isn't it?"

"It is." Then, with a frightening intensity, Alvar stressed, "I need you to do this, son. Just this once, and maybe you'll never have to do it again. For both our sakes, you must. We can't afford to fail."

"Yes, sir. I'll do my best." It was all he could say.

* * *

When the wagon returned late that afternoon, slower and fuller than it had been before, its drivers found the road ahead already occupied. A fat old man, on a fat old donkey, clopped along in the middle of the path, heading in the same direction as they. The larger escort held up one arm to halt his people. "Old man!" he called to the fellow in front of them. "Where are you going?"

The man stopped. He turned his mount carefully, as if he were unaccustomed to riding. In a quavering voice, he replied, "To see Merlin. This is the way, isn't it?"

"Hold up your hands so I can see them."

The old man smiled. In an instant, he and the donkey were gone. Alvar swept his arm in an arc, sending a concussion blast into the midst of his enemies even as he spurred his horse to the side. A blue bolt just missed him.

Behind the wagon, Balthazar charged out of the forest, one hand firm on his horse's reins, the other pointed in a fist at the vehicle ahead. With a loud crack, both rear wheels broke off, sending the wares and both drivers tumbling backwards onto the ground. The cart horse panicked. It bolted forward, dragging the broken wagon behind it and scattering the riders in its way.

The male guardian cried to his colleague."Veronica! Send the flare!"

Balthazar turned to the smaller rider. Her hood fell back as she raised her head. The facilitator had spoken the truth: she was indeed a beauty. The Morganian felt then something he'd never experienced before, something strange and unsettling, not to mention entirely too distracting. He saw her raise her hand to the sky, saw a blue-white light streak upward with a howl, only to arc toward a point beyond their sight, to a destination he could only guess. She turned her face toward him. He was lost for a moment in her warm brown eyes; just long enough for her to send him flying off his mount.

He picked himself up off the ground, shaking his head at his own foolishness. He wouldn't make that mistake again, he vowed. Then he dodged another shot, and another.

Meanwhile, Alvar had grabbed the female peasant and held her in front of him as a shield, one arm around her throat and the other with sword in hand. He too was unhorsed, but so was the older Merlinian, who had drawn his weapon as well. They kept moving, each trying to find an opening in the other's defense.

"Hiding behind a woman," the apprentice taunted. "That's a coward's way."

Alvar didn't take the bait. "I'm no fool," he answered. "If she gets hurt, it will be your doing, not mine."

The enemy growled in frustration.

* * *

Balthazar rolled to avoid yet another of Veronica's bolts. He smacked into one of the broken cart wheels. Almost instinctively, he willed it to rise. It began to spin in midair, like a giant discus. He sent it flying toward the girl. She gave a little scream and threw her arms up to protect her head. Her steed swerved away from the oncoming missile-not far enough. It hit the rider low in her side. She fell heavily, and her mount galloped off down the road. She lay face down on the ground, dazed.

This was his chance, Balthazar knew. From under his cloak, he pulled out the short sword he'd forged years before. He strode forward and knelt before her, lifting the sword high above her back for the fatal plunge.

She stirred. His sword froze in place. She lifted her head and looked him fully in the face. There was no fear there in her eyes, no pleading or hatred or denial. She just looked, waiting for the end.

Balthazar felt all at once like some loathsome creature, the bear attacking a shepherd boy's flock. Where was the Great Defender now? He stammered inadequate words to the girl beneath his blade. "I...I'm sorry. I have to. I need your ring. It's the only way Morgana will let me go."

"It's your choice," was her only response.

From the far side of the scattered supplies on the road, Alvar had been keeping part of his attention focused on his student. Now he saw their task on the verge of completion, and the danger of hesitating further. "Balthazar!" he cried. "Finish it!"

His opponent took advantage of his distraction. The Merlinian released his sword, guiding it with an invisible force past his foe. It swung at Alvar's back. The older man was forced to release his hostage in order to get out of its way in time. The woman stumbled, then ran toward her mate who ushered her behind the shelter of a tree. Now the sorcerer fight began in earnest. Alvar had more experience, but he couldn't match the power of Merlin's apprentice. He blocked the flying sword again. This time, though, he couldn't keep it from driving him back. A bolt of cloth on the road behind him caught his heel. He went down.

That was enough for Balthazar. At his master's call, he'd looked away from his intended victim, almost absently drawing his sword back and away from her body. He didn't even notice her still-dazed crawl out of his reach. He looked back then, seeing her struggle away, and they caught each other's eye. Both knew he could easily catch her again and finish the job. Somehow, they both knew he wouldn't.

Balthazar sprang to his feet. He ran to his fallen master, shooting a stream of fire at the enemy as he came. The flying sword dropped to the ground, for its wielder had to break his concentration in order to shield himself from this new attack. For the first time, the two elites faced each other in battle.

The Merlinian bowed his head with a grim smile. "So, Morgana thinks you can take us on, does she? We'll see. My name is Horvath, just so you know who it is that beat you."

"Yes, we'll see," Balthazar replied. His ring glowed a bright green, and the deadly match was on.

* * *

Everything he'd learned on the training floor now came into play. When magic wasn't enough, he used the skills he'd been taught in the courtyard, against the golems and his fellow students. The litter all around them on the road became missiles, flaming or not, individual or en masse like a swarm of bees. Alvar dashed away from the battlefield, to the forest's edge opposite of where Veronica had made her way to join the pair of humans. The combatants moved too quickly for either of their supporters to get off a clear shot at the enemy.

Both were tiring, with neither having gained a clear advantage, when a new sound drew Balthazar's attention. Hoofbeats? No, they were coming too fast. And what was that rumble he heard? He chanced a quick peek down the road, where Veronica's flare had been sent.

It was a rider, standing in a wooden chariot drawn by a pure white horse with no mane or tail, or any sign of weariness. The beast was a marble statue brought to life. The chariot driver, an old man in a long robe and long white beard blown back by the speed of his coming, was someone who Balthazar had seen only once before, and only in his mind. "Merlin!" he gasped. Already, the chariot was nearing the war-torn field of battle.

The others saw the new arrival, too. Horvath threw one last plasma bolt at his foe, then ran to join his master and compatriots. Balthazar ran, too, toward his own master in the opposite direction. The contest was over.

* * *

Alvar grabbed his apprentice's arm. "We're outnumbered and overpowered," he pointed out. "Quickly, into the forest where the chariot can't follow." They sped up the rise through trees just beginning to cover their naked branches with new leaves. Near the top, they felt a warning tremor in the earth; then the ground beneath them gave way. They tumbled down the far side. Alvar landed against an outcropping of rock cushioned by a thick layer of dead wet leaves. It wasn't enough to protect him completely, though. He felt a painful tingling in his back and hip, just before his leg went numb.

Balthazar crawled to him on hands and knees. He was covered with bits of debris from his own fall, but appeared to be unhurt. Unhurt, but filled with anxiety. "We're trapped," he said.

Alvar looked around. Indeed, the trees seemed to have grown closer together. Their roots and branches intertwined, and thorny underbrush filled the spaces between. Their forest circle had only one opening, and that was at the top where they heard even now the advance of their pursuers.

They had little time left, Alvar realized. He felt strangely calm, knowing there was no escape but one. He addressed the younger sorcerer as if they were alone and safe back at the manor. "You had the girl at your mercy. Why didn't you finish her when you had the chance?"

The answer was what he'd expected. "I...I couldn't. I'm sorry, Master. I've failed us both."

He smiled. "No, Balthazar. You failed in your task, but you didn't fail me. Part of me is glad you couldn't do it. Killing in battle is one thing, but to kill in cold blood...you're not a murderer. You've made me proud."

Unfortunately, Alvar still had one last task of his own. They couldn't get away from the enemy, and surrender was simply not an option. He reached a hand out to his apprentice. "Help me up, please. I want to be standing when they get here."

Balthazar clasped the outstretched hand. He pulled his master to his feet, using his own body to support the other's weight. He was about to lean them back against the rock when he felt something jab into his left side, just below the ribcage. Searing pain rippled through him, growing until it drowned all other sensation. He looked down at its source. His master's hand grasped a dagger, buried to the hilt in his flesh. His mind refused to accept what his eyes told him. The hand pulled back the long blade in its grip, and warm blood flowed like a river, but he barely felt it. He lifted unbelieving eyes to the face of one he'd trusted with his life. Tears glistened in that one's eyes, and a sadness greater than his own unbelief. His legs gave way, and he collapsed into his master's arms.

* * *

Alvar let the dagger drop. The dead weight in his arms was too much for his injured leg to hold them up. He lowered them both as gently as he could to the forest floor. Brushing his apprentice's chestnut hair away from one ear, he leaned close and spoke his farewell. "I don't know if you can still hear me, son, but if you can, I'm asking your forgiveness. You asked for your freedom. This, then, is my final gift to you. You're free now from Morgana, and from our enemies. Go to that place of peace. Wait for me there. I'll be joining you soon, I promise."

He groped for the dagger among the fallen leaves-groped for it, because he could no longer see past the tears. When his fingers found it, the weapon was still slippery with blood. He used both hands to steady the point over his racing heart.

A blast of air stopped him from carrying out his intent. The blade flew from his hands as he was hurled up and back. He found himself pinned against a tree, his arms magically encased inside the wood to hold him up but immobile. The enemy had arrived.

Merlin stood at the opening of the forest circle, flanked by his two apprentices. They took in the situation at a glance. The great sorcerer sent Horvath to check on their younger opponent, while he addressed the elder. "Why, Alvar?" he asked. "Is your hatred of me still so strong?"

The Morganian glared. Yes, the old hatred was still there. It was there in his voice, in the accusation he leveled. "You took her away from me. She believed in you, but you let her die. My Claudia, and our son. I will never forgive you for that."

"I would have saved them if I could."

The soft reply hurt all the more because he knew, under all the anger and pain he'd fostered over the years, that it was true. What was even worse, he was no longer sure that his choice to seek help from Morgana had been the right one. He looked across the clearing at the unmoving body on the ground. Had even that choice been the right one? It was too late now. To Merlin, he declared, "I hate you, I hate Morgana, and I hate this damnable war. Too many innocents have died." He nodded toward his fallen apprentice. "I promised him I'd be joining him soon. I intend to keep my promise." Then he closed his eyes.

A red glow spread rapidly from inside the tree against which the sorcerer was trapped. With no further warning, the tree burst into flame, instantly engulfing its prisoner and roaring like a giant torch in the early hours of evening.

The Merlinians drew back from the heat. "Get the boy!" the master shouted to his followers. "I need to stop this before the whole forest catches fire!" He raised both arms to the sky.

From somewhere far away, a spirit looked down on the clearing. He saw a young man's body being dragged away up the hill, a body to which he still felt a tenuous connection. He sensed the pressure of hands pulling him, felt the rough ground pass underneath his legs.

A great sadness enveloped him when he looked at the burning tree. His master was gone forever. He wondered why he remained.

The old man was moving his upraised hands. Above, dark clouds raced to converge on this spot. It was going to rain, hard, and soon. He felt the coming downpour in his skin, sensed the changing air pressure in his ears. When it came, it seemed to him that the very heavens wept, though it was but an echo of the sadness in his soul. The clouds blocked out what little sunlight remained. Only the dying fire gave light. When it went out, the spirit wandered in the silent darkness, alone.


	8. Life or death

**Chapter Eight**

The ride back to Merlin's castle was a somber affair. With the onset of night and the wounded Morganian to tend, there had been little time for niceties. Cloth from the wagon served as a shroud for Alvar's remains. He was laid to rest under a hastily-created cairn made with stone from the outcropping.

Meanwhile, the peasants had recovered the cart horse, still dragging its load. Horvath levitated the back end of the wagon so that Veronica could reattach the wheels. When it was mended, they set about collecting the scattered goods on the road. The chariot horse had become a mere statue again when its driver disembarked.

The humans converged on the fallen warrior while the apprentices gathered their belongings. A quick examination confirmed what they had already suspected: the boy would die without prompt treatment, and there was no guarantee that even this would be enough. They wrapped a length of canvas around his middle, winding it tightly in an attempt to stanch the bleeding. The woman looked up then at the two gatherers. "Make sure there's enough space in the wagon for us. I'll stay in the back with him. You can load some of the supplies in Merlin's chariot."

The four of them lifted their unconscious burden into the bed of the wagon, where the woman covered him with all the material they had. His skin was cold and clammy-he needed as much warmth as he could get. The man climbed onto the seat in front. He flicked the reins, and the vehicle continued the journey it had started that afternoon.

Horvath and Veronica stayed behind, waiting for Merlin to rejoin them. They found their horses not too far away, though the Morganian animals were long gone, probably well on their way back to their home stable. When Merlin came back from his grim burial duty, he touched the marble statue without a word. It regained a semblance of life. The riders sped down the road until they caught up with the others, then continued alongside them as escort.

Horvath, riding beside his master, had a question. "Merlin, why are you trying to help a Morganian? You know he'd kill us if he could."

"No, Horvath, I don't know that. Veronica told me he could have killed her, but he didn't."

"Well, he certainly didn't seem to be having any second thoughts about attacking me."

"He was trying to defend his master." At his apprentice's skeptical expression, Merlin conceded, "All right. Perhaps that wasn't the only reason. There is hope for him, though. We just need to talk some sense into him, that's all."

"If he lives, you mean."

"Indeed. If he lives."

* * *

"How is he doing, Agatha?"

The peasant woman shook her head. "Not well. I'm afraid the wound is infected. I won't know for sure until we get him inside and take the bandage off, but it would explain the fever. It's getting worse."

Merlin summoned a woven mat from inside the castle. Together, sorcerers and humans shifted their patient onto the hovering cushion. More servants arrived in the courtyard to unload the supplies and take the horses to their stalls, while soldiers in their armor kept watch. The marble beast stayed with its chariot.

Agatha led her fellow travelers to a room on the first floor of the castle, guiding the mat with one hand. The room had four empty beds set in a row along the right-hand wall. Each was equipped with a high iron frame from which draperies hung to ensure privacy when needed. Beyond the beds were a table and stool, lit by the gentle glow of a single lantern with plenty of clear space around it. Another lantern hung from a hook by the door. Various potions and vessels lined the shelves against the back wall. Two large trunks sat on the floor underneath them. This was the infirmary.

The mat came to rest atop the last bed. Agatha checked on its occupant again, who by this time was stirring as if trying to wake from a nightmare. His hair was damp with the sweat of his brow, and he moaned softly now and again. Agatha looked back toward the three sorcerers. "Please leave us now," she requested. "John and I will do what we can for him."

Merlin nodded. "Will you need anything?" he asked.

"Ice would be helpful, if you could see that we have a steady supply."

"I will. Let me know if there are any changes."

* * *

"Merlin! Merlin, come quick!"

John's urgent summons woke the master sorcerer from the light trance which was his equivalent of sleep. "What is it?" he asked, even as he climbed to his feet and followed his servant to the infirmary.

"It's the Morganian. He's gone mad! He's out of his mind. I tried to get Agatha to leave, but she refused. I hope he doesn't hurt her. Please, hurry!"

They opened the door to a scene of pandemonium. The back shelves had been emptied, and the objects sailed around the room as if caught in a hurricane. Similarly, the two trunks were open, their linens and blankets swirling on the floor and catching on the legs of the beds. The table was overturned against one wall, the stool tossed onto one of the beds, behind which Agatha huddled for protection. The table lantern was among the flying objects, while the one by the door swung wildly on its hook.

In the middle of the hurricane stood its cause. Balthazar was in combat stance, his feet apart and his arms held out at shoulder level. His body shook, and his eyes were bright with fever, reflecting the green glow of his ring. He wore nothing else save the bandage around his waist.

Merlin raised his hands. With a powerful downward thrust, he sent the objects to the floor, where they lay still among the blankets. Balthazar sent a stream of fire at him, but he caught it before it could reach him. The fire died. Before the Morganian had time to strike again, he dashed forward, the servant John at his side, and grabbed the younger man's ring hand. John caught hold of the other. Together, they forced their captive backward onto the bed from which he'd arisen. He was strong as only desperation, or madness, could make him, but he was also desperately ill. His strength soon failed, and he struggled ineffectually against the men who held him down.

Merlin lifted one hand. When he lowered it again, he held two pairs of handcuffs. He and John chained their prisoner to the bed's iron frame, ignoring the pathetic pleas with which he begged for freedom. After a moment's thought, Merlin pulled the diamond ring from their patient's hand. "I'd better hold on to this until it's safe for you to get it back," he told him, though he knew not if the boy heard or understood.

He rose and looked across the room to Agatha. "You'll need more ice, I see."

* * *

Darkness there was still, but no longer silence. A roaring as of an ocean swell made itself heard, almost imperceptibly at first, but growing in pulses like an incoming tide. The wandering spirit felt himself pulled down, down into the unseen ocean. It was an ocean of fire. He screamed his pain, but only the spirit world heard, for he had no lungs or air to fill them. Flailing, he sought relief.

A presence on his left, and a cool touch there, showed him the way out. The ocean collapsed in on itself, the tormented spirit at its center, and forced itself inside him until he resumed the form of the young man he'd seen in the forest. He moved the body toward the guiding presence. It pushed him back, and he felt tongues of fire surround him again. Panicked, he tore free of them, and found himself standing in a strange place of glimmering shapes and shadows. He recognized nothing.

Before him rose a great black shape that reached out to catch him. He threw up his hands instinctively in defense. The shape kept coming, and he called to his aid anything that would come between them. The air filled with objects, circling in a dome formation to keep him safely isolated from attack. The black shape lurked, waiting for him to tire. His body trembled with his effort.

Then a new, greater power arrived. It stripped his protective dome away, leaving him utterly vulnerable. He channeled a stream of fire at this new threat, but it was a futile effort. There were two enemies now, besides the first one still lurking out of sight. The two were upon him in an instant. They bore him back, down where the burning tongues lapped at him in hungry anticipation. All his struggles were in vain. He felt shackles clamp around his wrists, and an icy dread blossomed in his mind.

He was being punished again. He had failed in his mission, and now Morgana was making him pay. He begged for mercy, knowing he would receive none. There was to be no healing for one who failed. Instead, she would let the punishment continue until his death ended it. He prayed that death would find him soon, as it had found his master.

The thought of Alvar sent a fresh wave of pain through him, as strong as the burning he already felt. Where are you, Master? he called to the realm beyond the world. Are you waiting for me, as you asked me to do for you? Would that I were there with you now, and this torture was over.

The powerful enemy had gone. The two who were left were continuing the task that Morgana had approved. They removed his bandage, and the lurker pressed a hand against his side. He gasped in agony, and would have jerked away but for the manacles that held him. They spoke to each other-he knew by observation only, since the roaring ocean inside him drowned out all other sound. The larger one went away, but returned with two objects in hand: a bowl and a small white triangle. They knelt together at his bedside. He couldn't see what they did then, but the fire flared anew close by the uncovered wound. The ocean rose, expanding and drowning him in its flame. It subsided then, slowly, flowing out through the newly created channel in his flesh. When it was gone, he was left cold and empty in a dark place far away. A higher realm beckoned. Willingly, he drifted toward its calling.

* * *

Morning came, and Merlin and his two apprentices paid a visit to the infirmary. The servants had cleaned it up after the night's disturbance, so that all was peaceful and orderly once more. Agatha was there, hunched over on the stool with her elbow leaning on the table. Exhaustion showed plainly in her face, but also a stubborn determination to stay with her patient.

Balthazar lay quiet on his bed. A sheet and blanket covered him to just below his shoulders. The draperies on the bed frame had been pulled closed on the right side and the foot, leaving only the left side open. His face was tinged with gray-the pallor of death which lay upon him like a shroud.

Veronica was the first to approach. She reached for the nearer hand, still in its shackle, and clasped it between both of her own. "He's so cold," she noted sadly. She laid a palm against his cheek, and bowed her head in despair.

Merlin looked to Agatha for confirmation or denial of the prognosis. The peasant woman agreed with Veronica. "I think she's right," she said. After you left last night, we checked his injury again. It was badly inflamed. We had to bleed him, even though he was already weak. The good news is, the fever broke." She didn't have to finish the thought.

"How long does he have?"

"I don't know. Maybe an hour, maybe a day, a week at the most. If he doesn't wake up soon, he won't wake up at all. He needs food and water to restore the blood he lost. He's not going to get them like this."

"I see." He sighed. "You need to rest, too, Agatha. Send someone else in to keep an eye on him, your daughter maybe. You can come back later."

"But sir...!"

"Don't argue with me."

She still looked rebellious, until Veronica broke in. "I'll stay."

They all stared at her. She continued, "...if that's all right. Merlin?"

Slowly, he considered her request, then responded. "Well, you should be studying, but I suppose you can do that here as well as anyplace else. Very well, then." He turned to his other apprentice. "Horvath, would you mind bringing Veronica's Encantus? Then we have our own work to do upstairs." They started for the door.

"Merlin?"

He glanced back. "Yes, Veronica?"

She took hold of the Morganian's captive wrist. "May we take these cuffs off now? I don't think we'll need them anymore."

"All right." They expanded, and the cold hands slipped out to lie unmoving at the end of outstretched arms. Veronica brought his hands together, one over the other atop his naked chest. The two chains hung empty from the iron bed frame.

The others left. Veronica sat on the edge of the bed and started to rub the icy fingers in an attempt to warm them. This was the tableau that greeted Horvath when he brought his peer's Encantus. He took note of it and, though he tried to dismiss it as meaningless, he remembered.

* * *

John took over for Veronica shortly after noon. When she came back that evening, she found Agatha wrapping a new length of cloth around their patient's waist, over a fresh dressing that smelled faintly of lemon, while John had both arms slipped under the still body to hold it just above the bed's surface. He glanced up at the new arrival. "Welcome back," he told her. "We're just finishing up. Your boy's all fresh and clean for you now." His tone was deliberately light, but she heard underneath it a grim finality. She waited until the servants laid their charge back down and pulled the blanket up to his neck. They left to dispose of the used bandages and bathwater.

Agatha came back alone. She joined the younger woman, and together they watched the captured warrior as he slept.

"He's barely breathing," Veronica observed.

"I know. I think tonight will be it, one way or the other."

"Is there nothing more we can do?"

A moment's silence, then: "We can pray."

Veronica nodded slowly. "Yes, we can pray."

* * *

He floated in an endless void. There was no sight or sound here, no longer any sensation of hot or cold or even the weight of his own body. He knew only the anticipation of freedom, when all would be made right and he would find again those he had loved and lost. It was their voices, mere whispers in his mind, which beckoned him onward.

He was running now along a rocky beach, laughing in the afternoon sun. Pain came, and cold, and then the comfort of his mother's arms and a warm bed. She prayed with him, and all was right again.

He waited for her to come home after work. He would tell her of the treasures he'd found, or how his little oystercatcher family was doing, or show her what he'd hunted that day.

He stood on the dock while his mother said good-bye. "Don't forget to say your prayers," she'd instructed. "God's protection be upon you, and me, until we meet again."

He'd tried to obey. After his classmates ridiculed him for this practice, though, he started to pray silently. Sometimes, he was too tired to do even that. In time, he stopped altogether. Now he was reminded of his lapse. Was he cast out because of it? Would he be allowed to reunite with those who meant the most to him? He reached out in the void that surrounded him again, seeking guidance.

The whispers in his mind grew louder. They weren't the voices of his loved ones, though. He thought he recognized them, but only vaguely. They were female.

Angels, perhaps? They spoke the words of prayer. Yes, that had to be it. They were the guides he sought. He concentrated on the voices, striving with all his being to reach them before they went away.

* * *

"Amen," the ladies intoned as one. They were kneeling on the floor, facing each other with heads bowed and their hands clasped together. Veronica looked up hopefully at the young man for whom they'd pleaded. There appeared to be no change.

"It's not a magic formula," Agatha reminded her. "We can only ask."

They climbed to their feet. The servant woman put her arm around the girl's shoulders, drawing her away to the door. "Go to bed, child," she suggested. "We've done all we can. Whatever happens, know that you've more than fulfilled your charitable duty. God knows it, too. Rest easy now. I'll stay here and keep watch."

Veronica was loath to depart, but she knew that Agatha was right. Neither of them could do any more. She gazed for a long moment at their patient, knowing that this was, in all likelihood, the last time she'd see him alive. "Good-bye, Balthazar," she told him quietly, and turned to go.

A groan behind her froze her in her tracks. The sound had been nearly imperceptible, and she thought she must have imagined it, until she noticed her companion's wide-eyed stare. Together, they raced back to the one occupied bed in the room. The gray-tinged face before them showed signs of an inner struggle, of consciousness deep within but fighting hard to surface. Veronica took his nearer hand in hers and held it tightly. "Balthazar," she called. "We're here. Come to us."

Agatha did her part to help. She fetched a bowl of clean water from the table and brought it to the sorceress. "Ice, please," she requested. Veronica complied using nothing more than a look. The surface of the water froze, but not so hard that it was unbreakable. Agatha crushed the newly-formed ice in the bowl. Then, scooping out a little, she held it against the Morganian's parched lips. They parted as if by instinct, just enough to let the moisture flow inside. His nurse favored him with a huge smile and gave him a little more ice. The rest would have to wait until he could swallow. She returned the bowl to the table, and carried the stool back to sit beside the bed.

Veronica sat, too, on the bed by its occupant's hip. She still held his hand in both of hers, and still she called to him.

How long they waited, neither of them knew. The ice was melted, and the girl's voice had become almost a chant, by the time they detected a change. It was subtle, merely a lessening of the tension evident in the warrior's face. He seemed more relaxed somehow, his breathing a little deeper. Veronica fell silent, anxious to discover what this change might mean. She squeezed the hand in her grip.

His blue eyes opened at last. It wasn't for long, or without effort, but the women rejoiced when they saw it. He slept peacefully now, a hint of a smile on his face. The gray tinge was gone. Their patient would survive after all.


	9. Conversion

**Chapter Nine**

When Balthazar woke the following morning, he was alone in unfamiliar territory. He was surrounded, nearly, by bed curtains that were open only on his left side, from waist level up. He saw three more beds in a row between him and the door. He couldn't leave his own bed to explore, though: even if he'd had the strength to rise, he was prevented from doing so by the iron cuff around his left wrist, chaining him to the bed frame. That alone told him that he was in enemy hands.

He willed the cuff to expand, but nothing happened. He frowned. Raising his free right hand, he discovered the absence of his sorcerer ring. That confirmed his suspicion.

Why would they want him alive? he wondered. Did they want information about Morgana's headquarters, or maybe her network? What would stop Merlin from ripping that information out of his mind, as his master had warned him could be done? Did he have to be conscious and lucid for a psychic attack to be effective? He stared at the ceiling, confused, with a vague sense of dread concerning the hours to come.

A rustle of movement beyond the curtain on his right let him know that someone else was in the room with him. He followed the sound as it neared the opening in his tiny makeshift cell. A peasant woman appeared-the same one who had been present at the battle.

"Good morning, Balthazar," she said.

"How did you know my name?" Had Merlin already done his malicious work, and left his victim without even the memory of it?

"Your master shouted it during the fight, remember?"

"Oh." Well, that was a relief, even though he would rather forget the fight.

"You won't know who I am, though," she went on. "I'm Agatha, and I've been your nurse ever since that night."

"Oh," he said again. "Um, thank you." He didn't know the enemy's motives, but it seemed churlish to deny her his thanks, anyway. His eyes settled on her bare neck. "Where's your amulet? And aren't you supposed to keep quiet in front of a sorcerer? You know, to show respect?"

If she was offended, she didn't show it. "Maybe that's what you Morganians expect from women..."

"Humans," he corrected.

"Humans, but here we don't need to act like slaves. Merlin is our employer, not our master. But what's this amulet you're asking about? Only the apprentices wear amulets, and that's only when they leave the castle."

He explained, briefly, and she made a rueful face. "What a shame," she murmured. "Things are different here."

Balthazar's unease hadn't dissipated. After just a slight hesitation, he ventured to ask, "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, Agatha, but...what do your people want from me?"

His anxiety must have been obvious, for she smiled in reassurance. "Don't worry, lad," she soothed. "We're not going to hurt you. I'll let Merlin tell you more himself. He's a good man, Merlin."

Despite her attempt to calm him, Balthazar felt a thrill of fear at the thought of being the focus of Merlin's attention. He pulled at the chain that held him, instinctively trying to flee the coming encounter.

Agatha shook her head sadly. "Those Morganians...what do they tell you poor apprentices about us?"

He didn't answer, but he forced himself to stop struggling. It was only draining what little strength he had, and he wanted to appear brave, even if he didn't feel that way.

She spared him further embarrassment by changing the subject. "Are you hungry?"

He realized with a start that he was. "Famished," he admitted.

"I'll get you something suitable. Now, you just take it easy until I get back. The last thing we need is for you to reopen that wound of yours. Can I trust you to behave while I'm gone?"

Her expression was so like a mother's that he couldn't help but smile. "I'll be good," he promised.

* * *

Merlin and his two apprentices came for a visit in the afternoon, during John's watch. Balthazar had been sleeping again, and John had to shake him gently to rouse him. The servant apologized to his employer, "Sorry, Merlin. Agatha gave him some tea this morning. It had a painkiller in it, plus something to help him relax. I guess it hasn't worn off yet."

When at last the patient woke, he turned his head groggily toward the visitors. A dark-haired vision in a lace-trimmed ivory dress drew his attention first. His eyes focused on her, and he smiled. "Hello, angel," he said. "I must have died after all, if you're here to guide me home."

She looked down to hide her blush. Horvath looked decidedly annoyed, but Merlin ignored the youthful interplay. "Balthazar," he began, "we have serious business to discuss."

"All right," Balthazar agreed pleasantly. He was feeling no pain, and not much else, either.

Merlin looked dubious, but plowed ahead anyway. "You were sent to kill one of my apprentices. You failed, and now you've been captured. Morgana is going to assume that you've been interrogated or otherwise 'persuaded' to tell us everything you know. If you get out of here alive, she'll know it's because I let you go She'll suspect you of having betrayed her to us. What do you think she'll do to you then?"

"She'll check my ring to see if I told her the truth." He concentrated, knowing this was too important to let his attention wander. "It won't tell her what happened when I wasn't wearing it, though."

"Yes, that's right..." Merlin encouraged.

"I failed. It's my fault that my master died." Sadness permeated his voice. "My life is forfeit just for that. If she thinks I turned traitor, too, she'll make an example of me." Like she did to Blake, he remembered bitterly, except that it won't stop at toes and tongue.

"So, if we let you leave as soon as you're strong enough, where would you go?"

"Not back there." The answer was quick and determined. Merlin had no doubt that it was the truth.

"Where, then?"

"I don't know." This discussion reminded him of the one he'd had with Alvar went they first left the compound. _What would you do if you were free?_ Now the question was back, in a different form. "Far away," was the only response he could give. "Maybe Constantinople?"

"Where your master studied at the university," noted the older man.

"Yes."

"Even though you know she has her people looking for you. You wouldn't get as far as Italy, much less Constantinople."

"I can beat any of them." A hint of pride was there now.

"Any _one_ of them," Merlin corrected. "Morgana doesn't send her assassins alone against a known enemy, as you well know."

Balthazar didn't like where this was going. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," he complained. "I'm tired. Can I go back to sleep now?"

Merlin knew he'd made his point. He nodded. "Of course. Just remember, you're welcome to stay here as long as you like, even after you've mended. We don't have to remain enemies."

"You could show me your good intentions by getting this chain off me."

"Nice try. Not yet, lad. Not until we can trust you not to hurt yourself or us."

"You took my ring. I can't do much without that."

"You'll get it back when I see that you're ready."

Balthazar wasn't going to win this argument. Frustrated, he turned his face away and closed his eyes, trying to shut out the world and the people in it.

Merlin gave him an indulgent, though unnoticed, smile. This had actually gone better than he'd expected. The boy was honest, even with himself, and that gave Merlin hope that he was open to changing his opinions and assumptions. They had plenty of time to work on that. "Good night, Balthazar," he said. "We'll talk again tomorrow."

* * *

By the time he was able to sit up by himself, Balthazar was thoroughly tired of the infirmary. He looked forward to visitors, any visitors, to relieve his boredom. He no longer feared that he would be subjected to torture, either physical or mental, for the information he had about Morgana and her operations. Merlin had made it clear that such information would be given voluntarily, or not at all. Of course, he wouldn't be allowed to leave unless he cooperated, but that fight was for the future, when he was sufficiently recovered. For now, he was safe and well tended, even if not free.

One day, much to his delight, Merlin brought a large, heavy book with him. "I thought you might like to have an Encantus of your own," the old master explained. "Veronica told me how much you enjoyed it when she let you look at hers."

"Yes, thank you." The Encantus was much like the Book of Incantations with which he was familiar, only better. Not only did it have more history, biography, and languages, but it had more spells in it, too. This was a reflection of Merlin's greater life experience. Morgana, who the Encantus had revealed was Merlin's former student, could only include what she knew in her own Spell Book. When she deserted her master, she lost access to his further updates.

Merlin laid the book on Balthazar's lap. He sat on the bed, near the foot, while the young man browsed one-handed through his new acquisition. "It's a bit awkward, isn't it?" he asked rhetorically.

"Hmm? What's awkward?"

"Trying to read with one arm chained behind you."

Balthazar looked up. "Yes, it is," he agreed. He clutched the book tightly with his right hand. "I can do it, though."

"Oh, I'm not going to take it away from you," Merlin assured him. "I was just thinking...you may be trustworthy enough for me to take off the manacle."

The blue eyes widened, the hope in them too fragile for words. He dared not speak.

"You'll have to promise me that you won't leave this room unless one of us is with you. You won't try to walk without Agatha's permission. You won't even stand on your own until she says you're ready. Do you agree to all these conditions?"

"Yes, yes, and yes. I promise."

"All right, then. I'll hold you to that promise, so don't forget it."

The shackle released its grip, and Balthazar's left arm swung loose. It hung limply at his side, weak through lack of use. He didn't care. He was trusted, and treated well, and free. "Thank you, Merlin," he said. "I won't forget it."

* * *

Horvath accompanied Veronica when she next came to see their involuntary guest. It was the first time he'd visited since the day that Balthazar had regained consciousness. He was cordial but cool toward his former battlefield opponent. "Hello," he offered by way of greeting.

"Horvath," acknowledged the other, in like manner.

Veronica was somewhat warmer. With a smile, she bent down and gave Balthazar a quick hug. He returned it without hesitation. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Better, now that you're here."

"Ahem," interjected the third sorcerer. They looked up at him. "So, Balthazar," he continued, "have you thought about what you're going to do once you're able to get around?"

In truth, the Morganian had been trying to avoid thinking beyond the immediate future, which was recovery. He had no idea what he was going to do next. He was loath to admit it, though, so his answer was deliberately vague. "I'm considering all my options. I haven't decided on the best one yet."

"Mm-hmm." Horvath wasn't fooled. "Well, let me help you out there. Going back to Morgana is out of the question, as you already know. Striking out on your own is too risky. Merlin says you can stay here with us, but I'm not so sure that's a good idea. I don't trust you, even if he does."

He paused for a moment, long enough for Balthazar to discern that Horvath had other reasons for not wanting him to stay. He glanced at Veronica, and thought he knew what those reasons were.

Horvath went on. "That leaves us with only one option. You need to leave, while still being under our protection. You should go to live in another Merlinian enclave. I know a place in Northumbria where we have a settlement. You can go there."

Slowly, Balthazar responded, "Thank you for your suggestion. I'll think about it."

Veronica had been following the boys' discussion, and she didn't like what she heard. "Horvath," she chided. "You mustn't be so rude. We're not sending Balthazar away."

The older apprentice ignored her. Instead, he told their guest casually, "Frankly, I don't know why Merlin insisted we bring you back. You're nothing but trouble, the way I see it. If it were up to me, I would have left you in that forest to die."

"Horvath!" The girl was angry now.

Balthazar was angry, too. "But it wasn't up to you, was it, Horvath? I'm here, and I'm going to get better. What I do then will be my decision."

Horvath closed his eyes, striving for self-control. When he opened them again, he seemed calm. "Veronica," he said, "would you excuse us, please? The Morganian and I need to talk, man to man."

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She would have refused, but Balthazar nodded his agreement with the request. "It's all right," he reassured her. "We need to get some things worked out." With a sigh, she left them alone in the infirmary.

* * *

"Tell me I'm wrong," Horvath challenged. "You're trouble, and not just to us. You created problems for Morgana, too, didn't you?"

"What do you mean?" Balthazar was suddenly cautious. Just how much did the other sorcerer know?

"You were punished rather severely." He grinned at the younger man's reaction. "Yes, we saw the scars. You must have done something really dreadful to deserve that."

Balthazar looked down, remembering. Those scars were hidden now under the robe he'd been given, but they would never disappear. He wasn't ready to share their cause; not yet, at any rate.

Horvath took his silence as confirmation of his assumption. "I have a theory," he confided. "I think you were sent to attack us, two of the most powerful sorcerers around, as part of Morgana's ultimate plan. Think about it: if you succeed, she wins. If you fail, she gets rid of the troublemaker, so she wins anyway. Your master was obviously disposable, too."

Denial sprang immediately to Balthazar's mind. Of course Morgana had wanted him to succeed! Of course she cared what happened to him, and to Master Alvar. Didn't she?

The Merlinian wasn't finished. "You know, it's a shame that you're working for the other side. I like a man who doesn't always follow the rules. They're so restrictive, don't you think?" He didn't wait for an answer, but his manner grew more serious. "But then there's Veronica."

This was the heart of the matter, Balthazar knew. Steadily, he spoke the truth: "We're friends. That's all."

"Is it?"

"Yes. Maybe someday..."

"She's mine!"

Balthazar was taken aback by his vehemence. From talking with Veronica, he'd never gotten the impression that she felt anything more than friendship for Horvath-or for himself, for that matter. He replied carefully. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Well, now you do, so no 'someday,' understand?"

"Have you talked to Veronica about this? She might feel differently."

Horvath's face flushed an angry red. "What she and I say to each other is our own business. We just need time, without distractions. You're the main distraction."

"I see."

The older apprentice gave himself time to calm down. "Look," he finally sighed, "I've had my heart set on her for years, long before you showed up. I've been waiting for her to return my interest. Once we finish our training, she'll be free to start thinking about...what I've been thinking about. Unless she's distracted. All I'm asking is, don't encourage her, all right?"

"All right. She's free to make her own choices, but I won't try to influence her. We're just friends, really, and that's enough for me."

Horvath nodded. "Good. I'm glad that's settled." Then he smiled. "So tell me, Balthazar, what's it like to train under Morgana?"

* * *

"I want to see the Merlin Circle," Balthazar announced, after he was declared well enough to walk.

John was skeptical. "It's upstairs. Maybe you should wait a little longer before you try going up and down steps. I'd rather not have to carry you if you can't make it all the way. It's a lot farther than the lavatory."

"Oh, come on, John. I'll go slow. I'll even slide down on my backside if I have to. You are _not_ going to carry me."

"Well, it's against my better judgment, but..."

Balthazar grinned hugely. They left the room together.

* * *

They arrived in the upper chamber somewhat later than Balthazar had anticipated. He was leaning heavily on his companion for support, and immediately upon entering, looked for a place to sit down. There were neither chairs nor benches, so he made do with the bottom step of a short flight that led to another hallway.

"I told you, you should have waited," John reminded him.

"I made it. Give me some time to rest, and I'll be able to get back all right, too."

Other than the two of them, the room was unoccupied. It was lit by torches and a multitude of candles, as well as sunlight streaming in through great stained-glass windows. Tables held an assortment of items both mundane and esoteric, and a wooden stand bore a single Encantus. On the stone floor was engraved what the Morganian had come to see: the Merlin Circle.

He stared at it, curious. "It's not as big as Morgana's pentagram," he told the servant beside him.

A new voice responded. "That's probably because we only have one sorcerer training in it at a time."

"Merlin!" Balthazar smiled as the master stepped through another doorway.

"Yes, and you have no business being up here, young man. You've only just been allowed out of the infirmary, and already you're climbing steps."

"I wanted to see it for myself. A picture in a book just isn't the same."

"Well, now you see it. What do you think of it, besides its size?"

"I want to learn about the center domain. We didn't have that at the manor. Even our Spell Book didn't show us."

Merlin grew thoughtful. "The Forbidden Domain. Of course you wouldn't have seen it before. Morgana can't produce it because, besides holding the power of life and death, it's also the realm of emotions-love, to be specific. She wanted me to teach her how to use its power, but she wasn't ready to accept the responsibility that came with it. I refused. That's why she turned against me. That's why we've been fighting this sorcerer war."

"Life and death? What exactly does it do?"

"Well, first of all, it's the only domain that you need to be in, physically, to use, and it needs to have the other realms around it. Even I don't know everything about it yet, though it's existed since ancient times. I was hoping that it would grant the power to heal, but I'm afraid that's still a gift given to the very few. A sorcerer within this realm can kill someone with merely a thought, but it requires great sacrifice. He loses his power, permanently."

"How do you know that? Have you seen someone use it?"

"No. I've only read what those sorcerers wrote. One of them was my ancestor."

"Oh" Balthazar wasn't sure what to say to that, so he decided to stick to the present. "So you don't know if it has the power of life, only of death."

"It has the power of life _and_ death. We know how it can bring death. Life is more complicated. We know it's possible, but we haven't figured out how to access that power. I've been working on a new spell that shows promise, but it will take a while before I'm ready to try it. I call it the Rising Spell."

"And what does love have to do with it?"

"Love is the reason we know that life is possible-real life, not just movement that we control, like my marble horse. Morgana wants the control. Love is a hindrance to her, but she can't make the circle without it. Oh, and one more thing: we take the master/apprentice oath within that center realm. Love is a stronger bond than any chain devised by man."

That sounded reasonable, even if Balthazar didn't quite understand it. "I want to learn how to use the Forbidden Domain," he said. "If your spell works, and if you ever think I'm ready, will you teach me?"

Merlin smiled at him. "Are you asking me to be your new master?"

That brought the younger sorcerer up short. No one could replace Master Alvar. Karl hadn't, and neither would Merlin. "I...no, I...I guess not," he stammered. He bowed his head, utterly miserable.

Then Merlin surprised him. The old man knelt before him and laid a hand on his slumped shoulder. He held the other hand, palm up, in front of him. On it rested the green diamond ring. "I believe this is yours," he said.

Balthazar looked up, and his heart filled with grief and gratitude: grief for the one who had loved him as a son, and gratitude for the kindness he'd found in this place, that the one would never share. He felt the onset of tears, and turned his face to the wall so the others wouldn't see.

Merlin left the ring on its owner's lap. He gave the boy's shoulder an understanding squeeze, then rose and walked away, signaling John to come with him. Let their young friend have some privacy.

After a while, they came back. Balthazar, exhausted in body and mind, was huddled against the wall, unmoving. The ring was on its proper finger.

Merlin turned to his servant. "John, take him to the room next to Horvath's, please. I don't think he should try to go back downstairs now."

"Yes, sir. I do believe you're right."

* * *

Summer came, and with it a desire to spend more time outdoors. The three apprentices walked together one evening after supper, on their way to a fishing pond not far from the castle. It was really a small lake, but the servants preferred the more colloquial term for it, and nobody else saw a reason to argue.

"Well, Balthazar, have you decided what you want to do yet?" Horvath had become much friendlier after their discussion in the infirmary. Having adjoining rooms was a boon, as well, since they were able to talk and study together more frequently. Even though Balthazar wasn't required to study his Encantus, as the other two apprentices were, he found great pleasure in doing so.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "I love being here, and I love having you two as friends, but..."

"But?" Veronica prompted.

"But Merlin isn't my master. My master is gone. I'll never have another."

"Then think of him as a teacher," she suggested, "like Ammon or Jerome."

"I don't take an oath for a teacher."

"Why don't you talk to Merlin about that? I'm sure you can figure out something suitable."

"Maybe," he was willing to concede. "But then I'd be expected to fight other Morganians. I don't know if I can do that."

Horvath asked, quite sensibly, "Do you think you wouldn't have to fight them otherwise? You're as much a target now as the rest of us are, whether you like it or not."

"Thanks for the encouragement." Balthazar rolled his eyes.

Grinning, Horvath replied, "You're welcome. So, are you staying with us or not?"

They walked in silence while the Morganian considered. Finally, he answered. "I'd like to stay, but I'll have to talk to Merlin about it. See if we can come to an agreement."

* * *

"You may write the oath you're willing to take, Balthazar, on one condition: allow me access to your mind. You've told me about life at Morgana's compound, but I'd like to get the information directly, and whatever else you haven't told me."

The younger man backed away. "You...you want to invade my mind?" Alvar's warnings came back to him now in full force. Psychic attack was Merlin's specialty, he'd been told. Had he made a terrible mistake, allowing an enemy to gain his trust? He knew he wasn't strong enough to withstand such an attack.

"No," Merlin countered. "I want you to _allow_ me in. I could have used force at any time, but that would destroy everything I've been trying to accomplish with you. I want your trust, just as I want you to know I trust you. You need to know that I mean you no harm.

"Do you remember when we first met? It was when you made your sorcerer ring. I called to you then, and you would have come, but for Morgana. I was too far away to fight her. Well, I'm asking you again now. Come to me, Balthazar. Trust me."

The apprentice closed his eyes, trembling. "He belongs to me," Morgana had said. He defied her claim. No, Morgana, I don't belong to you. I don't belong to anyone. I choose. I choose who to serve, and who to trust, and where to place my loyalty. If I'm wrong, then so be it. I'll pay the consequences. But still, the choice is mine.

He opened his eyes, his decision made. "Do it."

* * *

They stood face to face in the center of the Merlin Circle, in the Forbidden Domain. Green fire surrounded them, and Balthazar felt the raw power of magic in the stones beneath his feet. It was exhilarating.

Merlin began. "I am Merlin, master sorcerer and servant of mankind. I accept you as apprentice, and pledge to teach you all that my apprentices may know."

"I am Balthazar, former servant of Morgana and now a fellow servant of mankind. I call you not 'master,' for only one holds that place in my heart, but I accept you as my teacher and my commander. I renounce Morgana and all she stands for. From this day forward, I am proud to call myself your apprentice, a true Merlinian for all time to come."

Outside the circle, Veronica, Horvath, John, and Agatha watched. As one, they concluded, "May it be so."

"This is where you've always belonged," Merlin told his new apprentice. "Welcome home."


	10. Attacking the stronghold

**Chapter Ten**

The Merlinians held a council of war nearly a year later to plan their attack on Morgana's compound. Merlin, his apprentices, and a few other sorcerers gathered in the dining hall of the castle late one morning in May. When the duties of hospitality had been seen to, all were seated and provided with drink, Merlin called the meeting to order.

"Welcome, friends," he announced. "Thank you for coming. As you know, this war between us and the Morganians has lasted for decades. Today, we seek to put an end to it. We weren't strong enough before, but now things have changed. One of her best people has joined us. It may be enough to tip the balance in our favor."

A guest at the other end of the table asked, "How can one sorcerer make that much difference, Merlin? Surely, Morgana has more people to take his place. We've always been outnumbered."

"Yes, Ragnar, we're outnumbered on the whole. However, we don't plan to take on the entire Morganian force, only its headquarters. Our defector tells me that besides Morgana, there are four master sorcerers there. The others are only students. Even allowing for one or two more masters since he left, the odds are still in our favor. If we can get more of our own to join this effort, that would be even better."

"Is there much hope that they will?"

Merlin smiled in reply. "I think so. I'd like you all to spread the word when you go back to make your preparations. Tell our colleagues what to expect, and ask them to meet us on the road just west of the forest surrounding her compound. That will be far enough away so she won't see us gathering, and too close to give her time to call for reinforcements when we break cover. The time will be Friday morning, three months from today, at sunrise."

Someone else had another question. "How can we tell them what to expect, when we don't know ourselves?"

Balthazar took that as his cue. He rose from the table. "I'll show you," he said. He raised his hand, and the green gem began to glow.

The room darkened. When the occupants could see again, it was by the light of candles and sunlight, but not where it had come from before. This was afternoon sun, and it illuminated not a dining hall, but a spacious stone floor engraved with a pentagram. Two boys stood within opposite arms, dueling with sorcerer weapons. Their masters watched.

The view shifted to a classroom where a frail-looking old man tested his half-dozen students on the contents of their books. Then the walls and the old man disappeared. The students were outside now, with a slightly younger teacher sporting a graying ponytail putting them through their combat paces.

Finally, back in the training room, standing at the balcony of her private quarters overlooking the pentagram, Morgana herself watched without comment or expression all that went on below.

Balthazar's disembodied voice sounded in the room. "These are the sorcerers who were there when I left. They keep a village full of enslaved humans behind the manor. I promised them I'd come back someday to free them."

The vision sank, or the invisible observers rose straight up. They passed like ghosts through the building's roof, and kept going until they soared like birds over the estate. The layout was easy to see from this vantage point: the buildings and grounds, the wall and its protective field of thorns, the forest that surrounded it all, and the road that emerged on the west. This was to be the rendezvous point.

Cloud covered the land. When it cleared, Merlin and his followers were back in the castle, just as they had been before.

Ragnar cleared his throat. "Well, it seems we might have an advantage after all."

The mood was somewhat more optimistic after that, though Balthazar said nothing more. He waited in silence until the meeting was adjourned. Only then did he address one of the guests. "Aric, you came from Cornwall, didn't you?"

"Yes, why?"

"Would you mind if I went back with you? There's something I'd like to retrieve from my hometown, and it's not too far out of the way on the route between Cornwall and the place where we mean to gather."

Aric glanced uncertainly at Merlin, who assured him, "It's all right, Aric. I've already given my permission."

* * *

Thirteen warriors converged on the forest road to meet the August sunrise. Merlin, standing in his chariot, greeted the others as they arrived. Except for his three apprentices, all were master sorcerers, their own students having been sent straight to the castle for protection.

"Remember to work together," Merlin told them. "Pair off when you can. I'll take Morgana myself. You'll probably have to kill the masters, but try to spare the boys. They may still be open to joining us."

"What about the humans?" asked Horvath. "They might be used as hostages, like Agatha was."

"Yes, that is a possibility. We'll just have to hope they're not close enough to the fighting for that to happen. Try to stay between them and the Morganians. Use your ingenuity. Oh, and get those amulets off them as soon as you can."

Ragnar fidgeted nervously. "Merlin, are you sure we're not riding into an ambush? What if Morgana knows we're coming, and has already amassed her soldiers at her headquarters? You said she has a network, and civilians that work for her."

The charioteer turned to his newest apprentice. "Balthazar, did you take care of Hannibal?"

"Yes. He's forgotten that he ever saw any of us, or even that he's ever been anything but a dealer in leather."

"Good. One more thing: how many horses are at the compound?"

Balthazar closed his eyes and searched. His target was farther away than the boar had been, but he was more powerful now to make up for that difficulty. He found them where he'd expected them to be.

"Ten," he replied. "The scouts are still away, apparently." The horses that he and Alvar had used had either returned or been replaced.

Merlin nodded. "Well, Ragnar, if she did call her soldiers back, they came on foot." He peered into the forest before them. The thick canopy of leaves overhead let in little enough light even at midday, much less now when the sun was still clearing the horizon. "Balthazar, you know this path better than we do. Lead the way, if you please."

* * *

In Morgana's quarters, Ammon watched as his leader brushed her long hair in front of a mirror. She pulled it back then in preparation for pinning it up in her usual style. He rose from the bed on which he'd been reclining. Before she had time to fasten the first clip, he was at her back, wrapping his strong arms around her and nuzzling at her neck. "Why don't you leave it down for a while?" he suggested.

She smiled briefly. Then, deliberately, she stepped away from him and turned around to look him in the face. "The night is over," she informed him. "I'm going downstairs for breakfast. You can stay here for a while if you want to, but don't expect me to join you."

"Of course not." They both knew that the others would perceive such a display as weakness, which was only to be expected from a woman. Morgana was anything but weak. That was one of the things that Ammon found so compelling about her. "Ah, well," he conceded. "I guess I didn't really expect you to stay. A man can dream, though, can't he?"

"Yes, he can dream, as long as he doesn't let it interfere with his duties. Keep your dream for the future, when I take control of this miserable world. Your place in it will be second only to mine."

He grimaced. "The sooner that happens, the better. You may not be getting any older, but I am. I'd like to start a dynasty with you while I still can."

She finished her hair without further comment. Before she left, she asked, "Will you be going out today?"

"I thought I'd go stag hunting by myself. My horse needs the exercise."

"Well, good luck. If you're successful, you can spend another night here with me."

His mood lightened considerably. "Now _that's_ incentive," he declared. He escorted her down to the dining hall.

* * *

The war party was making good time through the forest. "Only a couple more hours, and we'll be there," Balthazar told them. By then, it would be close to midday, and everyone at the estate would be up and about. Being Friday, though, they would likely be scattered, with their minds on relaxation rather than battle. Remembering the boys' enthusiasm to leave the premises at every opportunity, he searched for horses outside the wall. There was one, to the north but coming closer. He guessed that it was Ammon on sentry duty.

Merlin noticed his apprentice's heightened alertness. "Company?" he inquired.

"One. He's certain to find us. Let him find me alone at first, so he doesn't make a run for it. We can't let him get back and warn the others."

Balthazar, riding leisurely along the forest path, found the way ahead blocked by a fallen tree. He stopped. From behind a cluster of pines beyond the obstacle emerged a Morganian on a dark gray stallion.

"Hello, Balthazar," said the hunter. "We thought you were dead."

"Ammon," he acknowledged. "I was captured by Merlin's people. Master Alvar is dead."

"So how is it that you're here now?"

With a grim smile, the younger sorcerer told him, "I got my Merlinian ring. I'm coming back to show Morgana."

"Oh? Where is it?"

The smile broadened. Balthazar held up his hand, and the green diamond glowed.

Ammon knew immediately what that meant. Quick as a thought, his bow was in his hand, the arrow already in the air.

Balthazar stopped the arrow before it could reach him. He shot a plasma bolt in return, and the bow fell to the ground.

To his credit, though, Ammon kept his seat. The Morganian sent the fallen tree rolling straight toward his enemy. While the latter was busy getting out of its way, the older man drew his sword. He was about to rush forward to press his advantage when he noticed shapes moving among the trees, trying to surround him. He wheeled his horse around and set off along the path toward the manor as fast as he could go.

The stallion was fast, but Merlin's marble steed was faster. When he drew close enough, the old master held one hand out ahead of him. He clenched it as if grabbing hold of something, then pulled it back. Ammon was yanked off his horse by the invisible rope. He fell heavily, and his mount sped away riderless.

By the time he was able to stand again, Ammon found himself in the middle of a circle of Merlinians. He singled out Balthazar. "So," he said, "the hunter becomes the hunted. Now I know what a wild boar feels like."

"You saved my life once," his former student answered. "You can save your own now. Join us, or at least don't fight us. Leave Morgana. Be free of her."

Ammon sneered at him. "Merlin must have wiped your mind clean if you think I would ever leave Morgana. Unlike you, I don't betray my first loyalty. I'll die fighting for her before I give up my honor."

"I was afraid you'd say that. I won't fight you, but you'll get your battle. You deserve to die like a man." Horvath stepped into the circle.

Ammon, ignoring his designated opponent, asked "What happens if I win?"

For that, Balthazar deferred to his senior. Merlin replied, "You're too dangerous for us to let you go. We'll have to keep you as our prisoner, unless and until you agree to join us."

"That will never happen." He turned his attention to the eldest apprentice.

It was a hard battle, strength against skill, power against experience. In the end, it was sheer stamina that decided the victor. Ammon couldn't move fast enough to avoid the trio of knives that Horvath threw at him. One of the knives embedded itself in his neck, another in his shoulder. The third grazed the side of his head. He lay on the ground, staring at the treetops while his life blood drained away.

Balthazar knelt by his side. "I'm sorry it had to end this way," he said softly. "You were a good teacher and a decent man. You just chose the wrong side to support." When the staring eyes lost focus, he gently closed them. Behind him, Veronica silently mouthed a requiem. He returned the knives to their owner; then, after a moment's thought, removed the dead man's ring and slipped it onto the index finger of his left hand. "This will be my token of remembrance," he announced. One of his fellow sorcerers laid a blanket over the body.

"We need to get moving again," Merlin said, not without sympathy. "We'll give him a proper burial when we come back."

Balthazar nodded. They mounted up, and the war party continued on its way.

* * *

They found the gray stallion outside the ironbound gate. The battle had delayed them, so that it was already past noon. Since none of them, not even Balthazar, was authorized to open the gate from without, it fell to Merlin to counteract the spell that kept it locked. It opened without a sound. They filed through.

At the top of the hill, an angry red glow bathed the manor in its light, expanding with a roar like fire. Someone was shouting, "The wall's been breached! It's the Merlinians! To the armory!" Men and boys ran from wherever they had been to disappear inside the building.

The invaders spurred their mounts onward, Merlin himself at their head. With one wave of his hand, he blasted the heavy door from its frame, leaving the manor entrance wide open. To Veronica, he instructed, "Ride around to the back and make sure the humans get away from here. Don't forget to take those amulets off them!" Four more sorcerers stayed outside, as had been planned. The rest, including Horvath and Balthazar, dismounted and rushed inside the manor. Merlin came last. His objective was to find and defeat Morgana, while the others kept her followers occupied.

It should have been easy, since the Morganian masters were outnumbered. Their apprentices had been trained well, demonstrating skill with a variety of weapons on this, their home turf, but they were still only boys. Merlin's people had the advantage.

Then the golems came. A dozen stone men emerged from the armory; all were armed, fearless, and nearly invulnerable. They cut down two of the enemy before Merlin was forced to call a retreat. The golems followed them outside, where the battle continued.

Here was where the elites showed their power. They fought together, back to back, against both sorcerers and their stone allies. They turned away blows that would have killed lesser Merlinians, used spells that only they and their master could access, and took apart the golems piece by piece until they were nothing more than rubble.

* * *

When it was over, the courtyard was littered with dead and wounded sorcerers, along with a couple of horses and the chunks of rock that had once been statues. Karl and Ewert were among the dead, as was the oldest of the Morganian apprentices. Merlin frowned. He hadn't seen Morgana for more than an instant, when he'd caught a glimpse of her calling forth the golems. He strode back inside the manor to search for her.

His apprentices weren't far behind. Veronica had rejoined her peers, and the three of them followed their master through the open doorway. Balthazar led the other two first to the now-depleted armory, then to the classroom behind it.

Morgana wasn't there, but someone else was. Jerome stood protectively in front of the younger recruits who, knowing the enemy had won, awaited their dreadful fate. "Balthazar," the old teacher pleaded, "show mercy, I beg you. They're only children."

The Merlinian smiled. "I'm not going to hurt you, Jerome, or your students, as long as you don't fight us."

"I'm too old to fight any more. All I want to do is teach."

Horvath, suspicious of a ploy, challenged, "Prove it. Give us your ring."

They waited while the book master deliberated. Finally, reluctantly, he complied. "I've worn this for many years," he told them sadly. "I guess I won't need it anymore, though. It's just...I'll miss it."

Horvath took the ring, surprised but trying not to show it. The boys made no effort to hide their own surprise.

From the doorway, Merlin's voice caught the attention of them all. "Jerome, I believe you'll make a fine Merlinian. As for the youngsters here, they have some remedial schooling ahead of them, with new masters who just happen to be waiting outside."

They ushered the class out of the manor. When everyone had gathered in the courtyard, Merlin told his troops, "Morgana is gone. I searched the entire building, and she's not there." He caught Balthazar's unconvinced look. "Yes, I checked the downstairs chamber, too. She must have slipped away during the battle."

"Where are the humans?" asked one of the sorcerers. "Maybe they saw her run out of the gate."

Veronica answered, "They're in back, down at the bottom of the hill by the stream." Apologetically, she added, "They didn't want to leave their belongings and the animals behind. I told them they could blame me if the Morganians came after them."

"I'll go get them," Balthazar volunteered. "I was planning to make a trip that way anyhow."

* * *

He laid the last of his treasure pit stones on the perimeter of the seventh grave. They sparkled among the ordinary stones that had already been there. "My treasure is here," he said aloud to the one who lay beneath the ground. "Maybe the world doesn't see its value, but I do. I'll never forget you, my friend." He laid a hand on the flat stone marked with a cross. A yellow glow, and a hissing sound, came from beneath his palm. When he pulled his hand back, a name was etched in the stone underneath the symbol. He smiled. "The world will know your name."

They carried the dead Morganians inside the manor. While Jerome and a few volunteers carted his books out, and the boys gathered their few belongings in preparation for their departure, Balthazar showed his master and fellow apprentices the box of rings in the study. Merlin recognized several. To honor the warriors who had fallen that day in battle, and those friends of Merlin who were represented in the box, Balthazar donned the sorcerer rings they had worn. They would be remembered, as well.

Sorcerers and humans left the estate together. They brought the animals with them. Ammon's horse was gone along with Morgana, but the others bore their sorcerer riders willingly. Behind the exodus, fire lit the evening sky. Every building had been put to the torch, so that it would never again be used for Morgana's tyrannical rule. Her reign was at an end. Those who had been freed marched forth with glad hearts, and not a one looked back.


	11. Rising and quest

**Chapter Eleven**

"Is it ready?" Veronica asked the question that all three of them were thinking.

Merlin replied, "I think so."

It had been five years since Morgana's headquarters were destroyed. Under an ordinary sorcerer, the three apprentices would have been finished with their training long ago, and become official masters themselves. Merlin was no ordinary sorcerer, however. He had much to teach yet, even beyond the level of master. His elite team accepted its continued apprentice status, for it was but a name. No Morganian could withstand them. Even the dark sorceress herself had to keep always on the move, never being allowed to stand and gather her network of soldiers.

The Merlinians took losses, too. Like a great black-and-red spider in her web, Morgana traveled to those areas of disturbance, alerted by her minions, where the enemy had been spotted. Of the nine warriors who had accompanied Merlin and his team to the battle, none now survived. Those apprentices who couldn't or wouldn't flee fared no batter.

The sorcerer war continued, though the numbers on both sides diminished for lack of recruiters. The need for more warriors grew ever stronger. Merlin focused his energies on developing his new Rising Spell while his apprentices rode out to battle. Finally, on this sullen February afternoon, he deemed it ready for its first test.

Now the four of them rode together along the road that led to market. Merlin drove a wagon today rather than his chariot, but they weren't going as far as the market town. They stopped at the site of their first meeting, where a wooded hill sloped away to their left. On foot, they climbed the slope.

The clearing on the other side was as they had left it. Alvar's tomb rose from the middle of the circle, a silent memorial to Balthazar's fallen master. In a few months, it would be the anniversary of that fall, when the apprentice made his annual trek to the gravesite, to visit and to keep it in good condition.

Balthazar raised his arms, the backs of his hands pressed together in front of him. He parted them, and the debris on the ground was swept away on either side of the cairn. He motioned toward the seedlings that had taken root inside the circle since last year, and they were pulled up and flung away. Only clean or mossy earth was left between the forest and the stone.

Merlin's part came next. A controlled ring of fire sprang up around the tomb. Six lines radiated out, ending at a double outer ring that burned not far from the trees. Symbols filled the six regions thus created. Merlin's Circle was complete.

He turned to his most recent apprentice. "You don't have to stay for this," he said. "You can wait by the horses until we're done. He won't be pretty after all this time, even if he weren't burned so badly to begin with."

Balthazar considered it, but then shook his head. "No, I'll stay. He should have a friendly face to greet him, assuming the spell works. Even if it doesn't, I'm not going to exempt myself from seeing what the rest of you have to see."

Merlin nodded approvingly. He clapped a hand on the younger man's shoulder and smiled. "Good lad," he concluded. Then he turned back to the circle. The eyes of his dragon ring glowed.

At a wave from the master's hand, the cairn began to disassemble itself. Stones scattered into the surrounding woods, until only the shrouded body beneath them remained within the Forbidden Domain. Merlin stepped over the low-burning fire of his Circle. He stopped beside the body and spread his hands above it. A red glow rose from the domain's perimeter, settling over Merlin and gathering itself into his hands. They trembled with the power they held. He closed his eyes in concentration and began an incantation in the language of the people who had first discovered this realm.

Balthazar found himself drawn forward. He took a step, and the red glow flared and crackled. Another step, and it grew brighter. He reached the double outer ring of the Circle. Now there was no mistaking the effect of his approach. The glow was nearly white in Merlin's hands. Yes, this felt right. He just needed to get to the center.

The Circle wouldn't let him in. Now that the spell was in progress, there could be no disturbance, no new participant. Balthazar frowned with a sense of building dread.

Merlin, noticing the change even while he chanted, opened his eyes. They widened at the sight of the brighter light, then darted to his would-be assistant just outside the ring of fire, who was pressing his hands against an invisible wall, trying to get through it without success. He understood what was happening. The spell needed Balthazar for this particular subject, but he didn't dare tamper with the process already started. He shook his head, regretfully, and his apprentice ceased his striving.

He finished the incantation. The radiance coming from his hands crackled like the fire from which it was drawn, then flowed like water down onto the supine figure below, where it spread out and enveloped the body in its glow. Gradually, the glow was absorbed through and beneath the shroud as if it had never been. Merlin and his apprentices waited.

Movement! The watchers caught their breath. A skeletal hand crept out from underneath its covering, the sorcerer ring still hanging from one bony finger. The hand clenched the burial shroud and pulled it off. Alvar lived again.

...Or did he? The figure lying in the Forbidden Domain was nothing more than a skeleton . The clothes had been burned off, the skin charred to black before the creatures of earth consumed it. There was no flesh left. Even the shroud was tattered.

But the spell wasn't done yet. Slowly, the dry bones began to sprout tendons and muscles and veins. Organs reformed, ending with new, unsullied skin. Hair and nails grew back. The ring no longer hung loose, but fit comfortably on the hand of its owner. By the time the Circle allowed more people in, Alvar's body had attained the perfection of a Greek statue. Balthazar laid his mantle over the body, up to the shoulders, before he moved aside enough to let Veronica see.

The chest rose and fell, Alvar's first breath of new life. Hopeful smiles were exchanged all around. Then the man's eyes snapped open.

...Only they weren't the eyes of Master Alvar, physician and one-time Morganian. No, nor were they even human. Their ebony depths had been replaced with the glow that had been absorbed into them, the glow that took the place of Alvar's soul.

The resurrected body rolled over onto hands and knees, then stood, leaving the mantle on the ground. Quickly, Balthazar retrieved the garment and fastened it around his master's shoulders. The man just stared. Whether he recognized his former apprentice, Balthazar couldn't tell. He tried a friendly smile. "Welcome back, Master," he said. "It's good to see you again."

Alvar turned his head, taking in his surroundings. He froze when he caught sight of Merlin; then his face contorted in fear and hatred. He bolted uphill toward the circle's opening, brushing his mantle's donor aside without so much as a word.

The opening was blocked by Merlin's other two apprentices. They cast simultaneous spells to stop the runner, but to no avail. He slammed into the pair. All three went down as they grappled.

Veronica broke away, but Horvath was getting the worst of the fight. His attacker had the strength of an angry bear, and the ferocity to match. Horvath's knives couldn't even penetrate the new skin. Hands like iron clenched around his throat, and the pitiless eyes glowed with a fierce inner light. Veronica and Balthazar each grabbed one of Alvar's arms and strained to pull him away from their colleague. Horvath's face was going purple.

"Alvar! Stop!" Merlin commanded.

To everyone's surprise, he obeyed. The hands released their chokehold, unwillingly, and Horvath scrambled away gasping for breath. Veronica helped him up. Alvar glared at his new master, snarling his hatred. He climbed to his feet and turned to run again.

He didn't get far. With a tug of his hand, Merlin wrapped unseen cords around the fleeing sorcerer, binding his arms straight along his sides and tying his legs together. Alvar crashed to the ground. He roared his rage, but the cords held.

He was still struggling to free himself when his captors caught up to him and stood looming over him. "Be still," the old one said. He stopped fighting. "Who is your master?" he was asked. They wanted him to speak, but that ability was beyond him. Perhaps he had known how at one time, but not anymore. His past was lost to him. He remembered only that those around him were enemies-except for one. His eyes rested on that one, and the rage subsided into confusion. Who was he? He had known once. He yearned to know again. For now, though, the old one was his master He growled his answer in the absence of words.

Merlin had to be satisfied with that. Frowning, he looked up at his apprentices. "You couldn't stop him with either spells or weapons," he noted. "Let's see if that was a fluke. Try something harmless on him, let's say levitation, one at a time. Veronica, you go first."

Each of them made the attempt, and each of them failed. Other spells were equally unsuccessful. They tried two sorcerers working together, and finally all three. Their subject was unaffected. Only Merlin had any power over their prisoner. The master raised him so that he hovered upright just above the ground. He strove once more against his bonds, but even his superhuman strength availed him nothing. Merlin led them all back to the road, and Balthazar guided his old master with a hand at his elbow. Alvar floated to the wagon bed, where he was allowed to lie down, though still bound.

"I was hoping that our guest would be riding beside me on our way back," Merlin told them, the regret in his voice mirroring that upon his face. "It seems that the Rising Spell has more than one possible outcome."

While Balthazar made the guest as comfortable as possible, Horvath thought further ahead. "What are we going to do with him?" he asked. "Will you use him against the Morganians? He'd be a powerful weapon for us if we could control him."

"That's just it, though," replied the master sorcerer. "The spell was meant to bring him back completely: body, mind, and soul. It didn't achieve that because I left out the most important component." He glanced back at Balthazar, who was doing his best to soothe their new passenger. "I don't know how much of that component got through the Circle shield, but some of it did. You saw the change in the manifestation I was holding.

'So what now? Alvar isn't a mere beast, but he's not fully human, either. I don't know, Horvath. He would certainly be a strong weapon, as you say, but only if I'm there to control him. We don't kill unless we have to. Let me think about it on the way back to the castle."

* * *

In the end, it was decided that the spell's first test subject would be kept safely locked away. He was kept in a cell by himself, within which a chain tethered his ankle to the wall. Merlin himself had to cast a holding spell upon the chain to keep it from breaking. Alvar cowered away from his master, but lunged to attack any other visitor. Only Balthazar was able to calm him, though it was like calming a wild animal.

That first month, Balthazar spent most of his time with the new arrival, caring for his daily needs and providing companionship, as well as acting as a buffer for the castle's other residents. Eventually, his master came to tolerate, then finally accept, the presence of those others who came most frequently to visit: Agatha first, then John, then Veronica. The servants gradually took over the daily tasks necessary to keep their latest charge clean and healthy.

On this, the eve of Balthazar's departure with his fellow apprentices to battle another Morganian, he stood beside Alvar, who was seated on a stool getting a haircut. He held one trembling hand in his, a hand that could have crushed his in an instant. Blue eyes met and held their master's gaze. "Shh," he soothed, laying his free hand upon the other man's shoulder. "It's all right."

John, moving behind them with his scissors, flashed a grateful smile as he began his work. Alvar jerked instinctively. His hand squeezed, and Balthazar winced in pain. He endured it until the job was finished. The servant moved away, leaving the shorn tresses on the stone floor where they had fallen. Alvar released his grip then, but remained seated, still staring wordlessly at his comforter.

"I have to go now," the sorcerer told him regretfully. "I'm leaving tomorrow, and I don't expect to be back for a few days." There was no sign that his listener understood, but he continued anyway. "We're fighting Morgana."

At the mention of the enemy's name, the former Morganian's bright eyes narrowed, almost as if he recognized it.

Veronica, watching from beside the door, noticed. "Alvar, do you know Morgana?"

He turned his face to her, and the red glow within him threatened to overtake the brightness.

"You do, don't you?"

He growled. Even without words, his hatred of his former leader was evident. However, she wasn't here. Only friends, or at least non-enemies, were here. The red faded slowly. He was left mute and confused. Once more, he looked to the one he trusted above all others to ease his troubled mind.

Balthazar smiled in reassurance. "It's all right," he said again. "No more questions for now. Here, let's get you to bed." Gently, he pulled the other to his feet. Alvar allowed himself to be led to the cot, his ankle chain dragging behind him. He lay down on his side. His caretaker covered him with a thick blanket and gave his shoulder one last squeeze before leaving. "Good night, Master," the trusted one softly said. The glowing eyes followed him as he and the female departed.

"There's still hope," Veronica asserted when she and Balthazar were alone in the hall. "He's not completely beyond our reach."

Her friend was still discouraged, though. "I don't know, Veronica," he responded. "He hasn't spoken a word, and most of the time he doesn't show any reaction at all to what I say. I know he understands, but sometimes I wonder."

"He's made a lot of progress. You don't see it, because you're with him every day, but we do."

"Like what?"

She smiled. "Like, when he first came here, John wouldn't have been able to go anywhere near him. He's sleeping on a bed now instead of the floor. He drinks from a cup. He uses the latrine, and he keeps his clothes on even when we're not there to keep him from tearing them off. He can spend time alone without going into a frenzy until you come back. Best of all, the servants and I can be in his room without you, and he won't attack us as long as we don't do anything threatening."

"Like coming up behind him with a pair of scissors?"

She grinned back at him. "Yes. Not that they could penetrate that rock-hard skin of his, but I guess it's just the idea."

"He always was hard-headed."

"Unlike you, of course." The sarcasm in her voice was unmistakable.

"Of course." He gave her a quick hug, and she felt wonderful in his arms. "Thank you, Veronica. You're the best."

* * *

Merlin waited outside the cell until his apprentice finished his latest visit. "Any change?" he asked without much hope.

Balthazar shook his head. "None. He's no closer to becoming his old self than he was the day we brought him here. He's better at controlling his animal instincts, but he's nowhere near what we would call even a normal human child."

"That's disappointing," Merlin admitted, "but not surprising. It's been over a year. Morgana is growing stronger, even without her headquarters. I'm afraid we can't wait any longer."

Alarmed, the younger man drew back protectively against the cell door. "What do you intend to do, Merlin?"

"Oh, don't worry about your master. I won't hurt him."

"What, then?"

"Come on, let's go back upstairs." Merlin clapped a hand on the other's shoulder and led him away from the prisoner's room. "I want to talk to all three of you," he explained.

When they reached the training room, Horvath and Veronica were there already, waiting for them. Merlin began without preamble. "The Rising Spell cannot be used again. Since I'm the only one with enough power to perform it successfully, we have no more subjects on whom to use it. It requires love for the dead sorcerer in order to bring him back to human level." He grimaced. "I'm afraid there are no qualifying candidates."

Veronica pointed out, "The light changed when Balthazar came closer. If he had been with you in the Forbidden Domain, the spell would have worked as it was intended to, even though you were the one casting it. Is that correct?"

"Yes. Even the proximity had some effect, though not enough."

"So if someone used it with no love at all..."

"Morgana, you mean. No one else besides me has sufficient power."

She nodded.

"We can't let that happen. My Encantus is the only one with the spell, and it's going to stay that way. She's already taken those of the Merlinians she's killed. We can't risk her getting hold of this."

Balthazar hadn't forgotten their earlier discussion. "You said we can't wait any longer, Merlin. What do you have in mind?"

"Ah, yes. Well, since our numbers continue to dwindle, and resurrecting our dead is no longer an option, there's only one way that we can end this war. We have to kill Morgana."

"But she's too strong. You would have to do that yourself, and she's certainly not going to come here to fight you."

"Yes, I could do it...and so could my heir."

The apprentices stared in shock. It was Horvath who ventured, "You have an heir?"

Merlin gave them a wry smile. "I wasn't always an old man, you know."

"Then where is he?" asked Veronica. "Why is he not here?"

"I don't know," the master had to admit. "It was many years ago, during my period of wandering. There may be more than one; I only know of one for certain. She was a Romani. I traveled with her people for a few months, but I left before my child was born. When I returned later, they were gone.

'We need to find him, and any others of my line. Morgana avoids me, but she won't know about anyone else who can defeat her. The gift of magic isn't always given to our children or even grandchildren, but it will always show up again somewhere among our descendants. The seed is always there."

"So how do we find him?" Horvath wanted to know. "It's hard enough to find sorcerers as it is, never mind one in particular."

"Search. Keep searching. When you think you've found someone, bring him to me. My ring will tell us if he's a sorcerer, if we haven't found that out already, and if he's of my line."

"This quest sounds like it will take a while."

"Yes, Horvath, I expect it will take quite a long while. The sooner we start, the better are our chances of success. Oh, and don't tell anyone else about this. We can't take the chance of Morgana finding out."

"Yes, sir," the apprentices agreed as one.

* * *

The search was indeed long. Years passed, and they grew weary of their fruitless quest.

At breakfast one morning, Balthazar voiced the questions they all had: "Merlin, are you sure that your heir is even still alive? How do we know your line hasn't died out? Are we searching for nothing?"

The master sorcerer took a long sip of tea before replying. He looked as weary as his younger companions felt. "I know," he answered at last. He held up his right hand. "The ring tells me. I don't need it to do magic, but I wear it to reassure myself that my heir lives, or will live in the future. When my line is broken, it will free itself from my keeping. The dragon will fly away."

"How long, then? How far in the future? If it goes beyond our lifetimes, who will continue the search? Who will take our places?"

"There is no one else," Merlin said sadly. "You must continue."

"I don't understand. How?"

"I can stop the aging process for you." He spread his hands to include the other two. "All of you. Are you willing to see this through to the end? It may take generations.

'You should know, also, that you won't be able to sire or bear children as long as the spell is in effect."

The apprentices looked at each other, weighing their own hopes and dreams against the greater need of their mission. With a hint of dread, Veronica queried, "When will it end? I've always wanted to live quietly, to be a wife...and a mother." She glanced at her colleagues, sitting together across the table from her, but quickly shifted her gaze back to the master.

"It will end when Morgana is destroyed. I know this is hard, especially for you, Veronica, and I won't lecture you on the alternatives, or the stakes involved."

He didn't have to. They all knew the alternatives were few, the stakes their very reason for living.

At last, understanding their common mind, Veronica delivered the consensus. "We serve mankind. Morgana would have them be her slaves. We must defeat her, and we need to find the one who can do that. For myself, I choose to continue the quest."

Her peers quickly agreed.

Merlin nodded. He stood, and the others followed his example. Raising his arms as if in benediction, he pronounced words that sounded like a blessing. A gentle white glow from his hands flowed toward each of his apprentices in turn, settling over them and drawing itself into them as they breathed it in. When it was done, Merlin took his seat once more.

Balthazar smiled at the new feeling inside. "I feel younger already," he claimed. Then something else occurred to him. "Was that another spell from the Forbidden Domain? It reminds me of the Rising Spell."  
"It's related," acknowledged the older man. "Your master hasn't aged since that day, either."

"He also hasn't improved." The bitterness in his voice was subtle, but it was there.

"I am sorry, Balthazar."

"What's done is done. At least we know what to do now, if there's ever an occasion to use the spell again."

"True enough. Someday, we may even find a way to help him."

"I hope so." Someday, he hoped to look into Alvar's face and see, not the bright light infused with fiery red, but the dark depths of human eyes looking back at him with recognition and remembrance. The search for Merlin's heir was to save mankind, but he had a personal search, as well-a way to save his master's soul.


	12. Picnic

**Chapter Twelve**

The Merlinians lost two more members of their group in the years that followed. First John, then his wife, succumbed to the onset of age, leaving their duties in the capable hands of their children, who'd been trained for the job. They left little behind that wasn't claimed by their offspring, but Balthazar managed to retrieve the shark tooth they'd used on him that first night at the castle. He kept it in the leather pouch slung on its cord around his neck.

Alvar still hadn't spoken, but he had grown used to his imprisonment, and seldom showed signs of anger or fear anymore, even with Merlin. Often, one or more of the apprentices would bring his Encantus to study, just to keep the silent one company. More often, though, they were out battling his former commander and her minions.

One fine summer morning, the trio came to visit after being away for over a week. Alvar lay on his cot, his back turned to them, and didn't even stir when they greeted him. A little worried, Balthazar moved to the cot and laid a hand on the rester's shoulder. "Master?" he called.

Alvar sighed, but otherwise ignored him. He shifted closer to the wall.

By this time, they had become familiar with the Morganian's moods. Horvath commented drily, "He's bored. And he's upset with us for being away so long. My sister had a cat once who was like that."

Balthazar nodded. He spoke to their friend again. "I'm sorry, Master. I wish you could come with us when we go out, but..." He didn't want to point out that it just wasn't a good idea. First of all, they didn't know if Alvar could or would sit a horse, particularly one that was going to battle. Second, they didn't want the distraction of having to watch him while he was outside. Finally, they were trying to keep his very existence a secret from Morgana.

"I'll tell you what," he said instead. "We have the day off today. Why don't we go down to the fishing pond, take in some sunshine instead of being in this dreary cell all the time? Would you like that?"

Behind him, Veronica cleared her throat. "Um, Balthazar, may I speak with you out in the hall?"

He looked back at her. "What?" She didn't answer, but her expression was full of meaning. "All right," he conceded. Before they stepped out, he requested of Horvath, "Talk to him, would you? See if you can't perk him up a little."

Veronica barely waited for the door to close before she made her concerns known. "Balthazar, you shouldn't be talking about going outside. We can't trust him."

"What are you talking about? He hasn't given us any trouble for over a year, since he got used to James and Sarah taking over for their parents. I think the music really helped." The servants had discovered a sort of magic of their own; when they played their instruments for Alvar, he not only listened, but seemed to actually enjoy it. Balthazar continued, "Come on, Veronica, give him a chance. How would _you_ like being locked up for years on end? It's just down to the pond, after all."

She countered, "You forget who he is, what he's become. You seem to think of him as a child, or perhaps a pet. He's not. If anything, he's a wild beast who's learned to live in captivity. Once he tastes freedom again, we don't know how he'll react. If he runs, can you stop him? If he fights to keep his freedom, can you stop him? I know I can't."

"Merlin can."

"Yes, and then we'll be right back where we started, all those years ago. We'll have lost all the progress we've made. Are a few hours of sunshine worth losing everything we've gained? We wouldn't be doing ourselves, or him, any favors. Think about it, Balthazar."

He did. She was right, of course, but he still wanted to make good on his invitation. "There has to be a way for us to bring him out without the risk of losing him," he mused aloud. "Maybe if we chained his ankles, with enough length to walk but not run..."

"I don't like it," she insisted.

"All right, then, what about this? If he really is nothing more than a wild beast, he won't have understood what I was saying in there. My words will have had no meaning, and it won't matter whether I've changed my mind. On the other hand, if he still has the mind of a human-and I believe he does-we can let him know that this little excursion is contingent on his good behavior. If he makes trouble, he won't be allowed out again. Agreed?"

"For my part, yes. I don't know about him, though."

"Well, let's go find out."

They went back inside Alvar's room. He was sitting now on the edge of his bed, his blank eyes staring impassively at the visiting sorcerers. Horvath informed them, "He wants to go outside."

"How do you know?" asked Balthazar.

"I'll show you." Turning to the room's inhabitant, he inquired, "Alvar, where do you want to go?"

The man looked past his friends, to the cell door. He rose and walked toward it, as far as his chain would allow. When it grew taut, he stopped where he was, still staring ahead to his goal.

"There, see? He understands me."

Balthazar grinned hugely at Veronica. "The mind of a man," he reminded her. Then, to Alvar, he laid out the conditions. "Master, we can't just let you walk out of here without some precautions. You'll have limited movement, and you'll have to stay with us. Listen to what we tell you, or you'll have to come right back to your room. Agreed?"

His master gave no sign that he heard, but the apprentice knew he had. "All right," he concluded. "Wait here for a little bit. I need to see Merlin, and then I'll be back, and we can all go out and enjoy the day."

* * *

The four of them stopped at the threshold of the castle entrance. Alvar, hobbled by chains on both wrists and ankles, stood with his face turned upward, as if drinking in the sun he hadn't seen in decades. The others watched nervously, but he made no move to either fight or flee. He allowed them to lead him to the rear of the building, down the gentle slope to the small lake at the bottom. All but a few ornamental trees had been cleared from the castle vicinity, for security reasons, but the hill was lush with grass and flowers beside the dirt path that led to the water. Soldiers on patrol could be seen far beyond it, guarding against unfriendly visitors.

At the water's edge, Alvar stooped and gazed at his reflection, rippling as a warm summer breeze stirred the surface. He reached a manacled hand out to touch it. The reflection broke into a thousand fragments, and he immediately pulled back, distressed. It just as quickly reformed. Twin pairs of glowing eyes considered each other in wonder.

"He hasn't seen himself before," Veronica whispered. "Not since the spell that brought him back."

Horvath was restless. "Come on, let's walk," he urged.

Balthazar, however, was in no hurry. He waved a hand at his colleagues. "You two go ahead. I don't want to rush him, not after he's been shut up for so long. We'll catch up to you later." He caught the flash of reluctance in Veronica's face, but Horvath was only too happy to oblige. The older apprentice offered his arm to the lady, and together they strolled along the path that circumnavigated the lake.

Balthazar watched them go with a strange sense of something he couldn't define. Part of him wanted to call out for Veronica to return, or maybe to be the one walking beside her instead of his friend Horvath. Another part told him to keep his distance, to guard his heart against letting anyone else in. That way led only to grief. Besides, he'd promised Horvath that he wouldn't try to influence her in his own favor. He broke off his gaze, deliberately turning his back on the couple already a hundred feet away.

His master was peering at him as if reading his thoughts. Balthazar shrugged unhappily. "She's better off with him," he averred. "Horvath was right: I'm nothing but trouble. You should know." He picked up a flat stone from the dirt path and flung it with all his might across the water. It skipped several times before it sank.

Alvar blinked. He picked up a bigger stone. Following the younger man's example, he stood and sent his missile over the lake's surface. The power in his throw made the missile deadly had it been aimed at anyone. Instead, it flew on and on, nearly reaching the far shore before it disappeared under the waves.

"Wow." Balthazar was impressed. His mood was already improving. "I might have been able to do that with a sling, but otherwise, no way. Not without magic."

They followed the shoreline in the opposite direction from where the other two had gone. Eventually, they all met at the far side of the fishing pond.

"Hello, strangers," Balthazar said with a smile. "Beautiful day for a walk, isn't it?"

"Quite," agreed Veronica. She studied their silent companion. "And how is Alvar doing?" Her fears appeared to be unfounded, but the day wasn't over yet.

"Very well. I think he's enjoying this trip even more than we are."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Horvath contradicted. He wrapped an arm behind the lady's waist and pulled her to his side. "It's not often that we get a day to ourselves. I'm trying to make the most of it."

Balthazar got the hint. "Ahem, well, uh, why don't we all continue the way we were going? By the time we get back to our starting point, it will be close to dinnertime. We can go up to the castle together from there."

"Thanks, mate. We'll see you then."

* * *

Horvath was waiting by himself when the other men finished their walk around the lake. He looked a little disappointed, but pleased overall.

"Where's Veronica?" asked Balthazar.

Horvath nodded up the hill to the castle. "She had to get back-couldn't wait for you. There are no facilities out here for a woman."

"Oh. Well, I guess it's time for us to get back, too."

They were on their way up the path when above them appeared another trio coming to meet them. It was Veronica, laughing with her new companions and carrying a pair of wine jugs in her arms. Sarah brought a large hamper covered with a pile of mats and a rough tablecloth. Her brother James had an assortment of musical instruments. Veronica greeted her fellow sorcerers with a radiant smile. "Merlin let my friends here have the afternoon off so they could join us. We can have a picnic."

Back by the water's edge, they spread out the tablecloth on the ground and set the hamper and wine in its middle. The mats served as seats. They enjoyed their meal as equals, with only Alvar's chains to remind them of his restricted status. He finished the wine, which caused his former apprentice some worry, but he didn't seem to be adversely affected.

Sarah cleaned up, gathering everything into and around the hamper. She wrapped it all in the tablecloth, then carried the bundle a short way up the path. She left it there for later.

Meanwhile, James brought forth his offering. He had a harp, a fiddle, a flute, and a drum. He glanced across at the blank eyes of his charge. "Alvar, what would you like to hear?" He moved his hand from one instrument to another, watching until he caught a subtle change of expression in the other's face. He smiled and nodded. "Fiddle it is, then." He began to play.

It was a pleasant melody, one that captured the happiness of the day. Then James' sister took up the flute and joined him. The tune all but commanded its listeners to move.

Veronica climbed to her feet. She reached a hand out toward Balthazar. "Come, dance with me," she invited.

He looked down, embarrassed. "I...I'm sorry, Veronica. I don't know how to dance."

Horvath was there by her side then. "I do," he announced with a barely concealed air of superiority. "Every gentleman should know how to dance." He bowed to his heart's desire. "Shall we?"

Balthazar felt his face flush. He saw Veronica's reluctance to partner with another, and the turmoil within him welled up again. The moment was rapidly becoming awkward. To prevent that, he cast the deciding vote. "Go on," he told her. "I'll watch. Maybe I'll learn enough to keep from making a fool of myself when my time comes."

He did watch. The couple moved gracefully together, culture on display there by the muddy shore. Alvar seemed to be lost in the music. Restless, Balthazar eyed the two instruments not currently in use, and his lips curled upward in a slow smile. He claimed the drum, as it didn't require a great deal of skill to play.

The new beat took his companions by surprise. The players stopped, the dancers halted, and Alvar stared at the new musician. He nodded encouragement to them all. Joyfully, they resumed their merriment to a driving, improvised air.

At last the session wound down. Laughing, Veronica hugged her dance partner and then whirled away. She came back to Balthazar. With hands on hips, she stood before him and pretended to scold. "All right, you've invented enough ways to stall. There's still time for one more dance before the afternoon is over. I saved it for you." She reached out her hand again.

"But I can't..."

"I'll teach you, if you haven't picked up the basics already from watching us."

He cast an uncertain look across the span of grass. Horvath wasn't happy about this, he could tell. He sent his friend a "What else can I do?" expression, but it didn't help. Ah, well. So be it. He stood, leaving his drum where it was, and moved with the lady to the open grass. James and Sarah began a slower melody that was just right for learning the art of dance. Horvath glared.

The tempo picked up a little as Balthazar improved. Despite himself, he was enjoying his teacher's attention too much to care what her suitor thought. He held her closely now and again as the music dictated, and he grew more reluctant each time to let her go. Time and duties slipped away in the magic of this tiny world.

* * *

A loud POP! interrupted his reverie. In the startled silence that followed, all eyes turned toward the source of the noise.

Alvar stood holding the drum that Balthazar had been playing earlier; or, more precisely, the drum was holding him. His arms were buried nearly to the elbows inside the barrel. the chain around his wrists catching on the torn membrane that had been stretched tightly across the rim. Alvar howled his dismay.

"Oh, no." Balthazar sprinted toward his master, furious with himself for neglecting the one for whose sake this whole outing had been planned.

Alvar didn't wait for him. He bolted for the lone tree in his immediate vicinity, or tried to. The shackles around his ankles cut short his stride. He fell in a tangle of drum and chains.

Red fury burned in his eyes. Struggling to his haunches, he lifted his unwanted adornment high above his head, then brought it down, hard, to the ground. The drum shattered. He shook himself free of its remains, but he wasn't through yet. The chains must go, too. The mighty arms strained. Metal screeched as the links weakened and finally broke, leaving the cuffed wrists with a short length of severed chain dangling from each. In similar manner, the manacles around his ankles became forcibly disconnected. Alvar climbed to his feet with a roar of triumph, the wild beast free at last.

James was already halfway up the path to the castle, racing to bring Merlin to the scene. Horvath and the women looked on in frozen horror at the man-thing with whom they'd so recently shared a picnic and merriment. Balthazar stood alone before the creature. Red eyes met blue, angry snarls countered by soothing words too soft for the witnesses to discern. Stepping closer, Balthazar offered a hand to his master, who made no move to take it, though his body shook with tension.

That tension grew too great to withstand. Alvar spun around to flee, and the chains on his wrists swung with the motion. Balthazar had no time to avoid the one that swung toward him. It struck him on the side of his head, the jagged metal on the broken end link digging a bloody trench along his cheek before it finished its arc. He fell, dazed. From behind him, he heard a woman cry out, while ahead a dark figure sped away without looking back.

Then Veronica was there beside him, helping him back to his feet. She caught her breath at the sight of the blood.

"I have to stop him," Balthazar told her.

"He hurt you!"

"He didn't mean to." He broke away from her, running after the fleeing figure. "Master!" he called. "Wait! Come back!"

Alvar was nearing the edge of the castle environs when another voice boomed through the air. "Alvar, stop!" It was Merlin, and his command was not to be denied, though the master sorcerer himself was still distant. Alvar slowed to a gradual halt, then turned around to face the one who must be obeyed. Resentment lit red sparks in the glowing eyes.

Balthazar breathed a note of thanks for Merlin's intervention. Panting, he finally caught up with his master. "Thank you...for listening," he wheezed. "Could we...sit down, maybe?" His head felt like it was on fire.

Finally, the older man noticed his follower. His eyes followed the crimson tracks that marred the other's cheek, and a strange, almost puzzled expression came over his face. The red faded from his eyes. When the wounded one sank to the ground, he crept closer without knowing why. He dropped to hands and knees, so that his head was level with that of the man sitting before him. A hand, gentle as only that of a healer could be, touched the blood still flowing.

Balthazar flinched at the contact, but otherwise made no move. The pain in his head was nothing compared to the joy he felt at this evidence of humanity triumphant over the beast. If it lasted, then their years of progress would not have been erased after all. The test was yet to come, but it wouldn't be long now. Slowly, he folded his master's outstretched hand in both of his. He held it firmly as he spoke. "Merlin will be here soon, Master. Please, don't try to run again, and don't fight, whatever happens. I'll defend you. I'm your friend. Trust me, please." The bright eyes only stared, unblinking.

When Merlin and the others arrived, they found the two men thus. Balthazar felt the strong hand tremble in his grip, felt the muscles tense to flee. He held on tighter. "No," he said. "Stay with me. Don't run."

Merlin took note of the broken chains, and of his apprentice's cut cheek. "What happened?"

Balthazar explained. "He saw me playing the drum earlier. I think he wanted to try it, too, but he didn't know his own strength." He added, "I was careless. I should have been paying more attention, and well...there was the wine."

"The wine?"

"Yes, well...it didn't seem to be affecting him, so I let him finish it off. Both jugs."

Merlin shook his head and sighed. "Bad decision, Balthazar. Well, I trust you've learned your lesson without any help from me. As for what to do next, this leaves us in rather a quandary, doesn't it? Now that he's grown strong enough to free himself, I wonder how long even the cell chain will be able to hold him."

"Then maybe we should forgo chains altogether. The only thing holding him now is me, and that's not a physical bond."

Wise as he was, the old sorcerer considered the request. Cautiously, he allowed, "Perhaps you're right." Then he focused on the one he'd called forth from the grave. "Alvar, stand and face me."

Balthazar caught the look of panic on his friend's face. He smiled. "It's all right," he assured him. Releasing the hand he held, he climbed to his feet and helped the other to rise, as well. They stood side by side in front of their commander.

"Hold out your hands," the commander ordered.

Alvar just stood shaking, so his companion moved partway behind him; resting a hand on the other's far shoulder, he clasped the nearer arm under the elbow and lifted it straight ahead. "He won't hurt you," he told his master softly. "Come on, both arms." Reluctantly, Alvar complied. The severed chains dangled from the shackles on his wrists.

Merlin cupped his hands together. As he spread first fingers, then palms, apart, the manacles expanded as well. Both wrists and ankles were soon released from their iron grip. "You're free, Alvar," the old sorcerer declared. "No more chains. Come back with us now because you want to, not because you have to."

Wonder and uncertainty wrestled for dominance in the former prisoner's eyes. Finally, with much coaxing and encouragement from Balthazar, he allowed himself to be led back to the castle. Merlin removed the magically enhanced ankle chain from Alvar's cell, which also removed an undefinable weight from the atmosphere of the room. "This may be a mistake," he admitted to his apprentices, "but I think it needs to be done. If he understands any of this, he'll realize that he's earned some level of trust he didn't have before. We're making progress."


	13. The Grimhold

**Chapter Thirteen**

"This war is pointless. We're making no progress whatever, and this search has been going on for a hundred years now. Merlin says his ring will tell him if his line's been broken, but I say that's nothing more than wishful thinking. There is no 'Prime Merlinian,' Balthazar. You and I, and Veronica, are the closest he's ever going to get. He's sending us all over creation for no good reason."

The pair had been riding westward for the past two days. Horvath was growing increasingly frustrated with his master's stubborn insistence on continuing both the war and the search. More than that, though, he was frustrated with the enforced waiting for the woman he loved. He was certain that, once the fighting was over and they could settle down somewhere, she would consent to be his.

"It's not pointless," Balthazar countered. "I've lived under Morgana's rule, and I've seen how she treats civilians. Would you want your family to be her slaves?"

"I haven't talked to anyone in my family for decades. We wouldn't even recognize each other now."

"All right, then, _any_ family. Sarah's children, say?"

"It wouldn't be all that different for them, would it? They'd just have to get used to keeping quiet, that's all."

"Oh, don't be that way, Horvath. Cheer up. I know we haven't found the Prime Merlinian yet, but we will. And we did find some sorcerers who decided to join us, so it hasn't been a total waste."

"Cheer up, you say? You're entirely _too_ cheerful. First Kent, and now Wales. And we don't even have Veronica along to keep us company."

"That's because we're not riding into a planned battle. You know that. Anyway, it's good for at least one of us to stay home with Master Alvar."

"I suppose. I'll just be glad to get back, that's all. I miss her when she's not around."

"Yeah, I miss her, too."

* * *

Horvath nodded toward their destination. "There it is. Let's hope Merlin didn't send us all the way out here for nothing."

They passed the spacious fields and gardens, the ditch and log embankment, and the animal pens within, to the wattled roundhouse in the center. As armed and mounted men, they met no resistance, but much guarded curiosity from the residents working on the grounds. One resident sprinted to the roundhouse ahead of them, yelling an alert to those inside. By the time the riders reached the door and dismounted, they found themselves ringed by onlookers, who nonetheless kept a respectful distance away.

The door opened. A young maiden, a house servant by the looks of her, stood gawking up at the visitors, until a bony old hand clutched her shoulder from behind. The hand belonged to a bony old woman, bent with age. Milky white covered her eyes like a film. "Who is it, girl?" she asked in a quavering voice as frail as her body.

"Two knights, Mistress Kaitlin. Strangers."

The old woman peered at the fuzzy images standing at her door. "Strangers, eh? Well, strangers, what do ye want with me? Are ye friendly or no?"

The apprentices exchanged glances, then Balthazar answered, "We mean you no harm, Lady. We were told that there was someone here who might have special abilities. We've come to see if that's true."

She laughed bitterly. "What, looking for soldiers, are you? There's no one here who can fight. I live alone, except for my servants here."

Something in her voice told Balthazar that she wasn't telling them everything. Horvath, already suspicious by nature, made his doubts known. "Would you mind if we took a look around anyway, mum? We've come a long way, so we'd like to see for ourselves instead of just taking your word for it."

"Suit yourselves," she shrugged. "I can't stop you."

Horvath smoothly climbed back into the saddle. He wheeled his horse to one side and cantered away to begin his search of the grounds. Balthazar was left to face the old woman's glare alone. "Um," he began, keenly aware that he was intruding on another's property, "I'd like to check inside the house, too, if you'll kindly give me permission." Quickly, he added, "Not that I think you're hiding anything, but maybe a servant has talents you don't see...er, recognize, I mean. Because to you, that's just normal." She glared some more. "We won't take anything, or anyone, without your leave," he promised. "I give you my word on that."

"What, ye don't trust my word, but I'm supposed to trust yours?" Then she sighed. "Oh, all right. Come in, if ye must." She stepped back, drawing the servant girl with her. "Get the man a drink," she instructed. "Where's our hospitality? It's been too long since we've had visitors."

Inside, Balthazar scanned the rooms and the servants in them, but at first found nothing unusual. He was checking out the pantry when a strange object caught his eye; it had a shape like that of a swaddled infant, but was half the size and made of polished wood. It sat on the end of a shelf full of spice jars, and would have gone unnoticed but for the painting that decorated its surface.

The painting seemed familiar somehow. Frowning, Balthazar reached for the object.

"Stop!" came a harsh command behind him. Apparently, Mistress Kaitlin's eyesight was better than he'd thought. "Leave that alone!"

He turned to her. "Why?" he demanded. "It's just another spice jar, isn't it?"

"It's...it's special. A gift from me granddad. He made it himself. I don't let anyone touch it, not even the servants."

He studied the painting more closely, but didn't try to touch it again. The picture depicted a boy no older than ten, a boy with red hair and green eyes. Balthazar contemplated the image, his mind racing back through long years in search of elusive memories. He'd seen that style of painting before...

Something clicked. Slowly, he turned once again to the woman who trembled at his side. "Lady, if I may ask...who was your grandfather? What was his name?"

The answer confirmed his suspicions. "His name was Sheridan."

* * *

"He was on the Continent, far away to the east, when he met Grams. It didn't take long for the two of them to hit it off. He knew he wasn't supposed to get attached to anyone, 'specially a non-sorcerer, so he didn't say anything to his people about her. He did his job as usual, but he'd always find time to come back east to see her. He couldn't stay, though."

Kaitlin paused in her retailing of the family's history. She and her guests were seated now around a table, on which rested the wooden figure she'd taken from its shelf. The servant girl refilled all their cups. Her mistress took a sip, then continued:

"When Granddad heard about the fight at Morgana's headquarters, he figured it was safe to retire. He married his girl and brought her back to his family home in Britain. They brought up their son there, him being me dad, of course. He and mum had two children of their own." She pointed to the boy painted on the centerpiece. "Keane's me older brother. He's a sorcerer, too, like Granddad."

"Wait," Horvath interrupted. "Are you saying that your older brother is still alive? If he is, then where is he?"

"Oh, yes, he's still alive. He's in there."

The two men stared at the figure on the table, then at each other. They were both thinking the same thing: the old woman wasn't quite sane.

Either she didn't see their reaction, or she didn't care. She needed to tell someone her story. She went on. "Granddad made it as a place to hide if Morgana or her surviving henchmen came calling. He wanted to make more, for the rest of his family, but it turns out only a sorcerer can open it, and he has to be on the outside. You can't get out yourself if you're stuck inside.

'Well, they did come calling, as he'd feared. First thing Granddad did was hide Keane, 'cause he knew they'd want him. Mum took me and the doll, with me brother inside, and hid in a secret cubbyhole under the kitchen. We heard the fighting." She shuddered, remembering. "We were so scared. Mum was crying, and I think I was, too. We waited a long time after the noise went away. Nobody came to get us. It must have been hours we waited in that cramped little hole Finally, Mum decided it was time to check things out.

'It was awful. They were all dead: Grams, Granddad, and me own dad. The servants were murdered, too. The attackers only lost one of theirs. They just left him there with his face burned off, the uncivilized brutes.

'Anyway, we tried to let me brother out, but we couldn't. We weren't sorcerers. I even tried using Granddad's ring, but that didn't work either. We moved here, Mum and me, hoping Morgana would never find out about us or Keane. It's been nigh on seventy years now, and I don't expect I'll ever see me brother again outside that doll."

On this mournful note, she rose from the table and hobbled to the spice shelf. She groped in the space behind which the doll had been sitting. She found what she wanted; then, with a grim smile brought it back to show her visitors. "I tried to wear it for a while, but me fingers are just too skinny," she explained. It was Sheridan's pearl ring.

Balthazar didn't know what to think. Delusional or not, this woman clearly had sorcerer blood in her family. Merlin had been at least partially correct to send them here. If she was right, though, and her brother really _was_ trapped in the wooden doll, there was a good chance that he might be the one they sought. He grinned at the irony of it-not one, but two of Morgana's students would be instrumental in bringing about her destruction. He had to find out.

"How does a sorcerer open it?" he asked his hostess. "We've told you who we are. Could either my friend Horvath or I open it, or does it have to be a sorcerer in Sheridan's family?"

"I don't know who can," she admitted, her voice faltering. "You're the first sorcerers I've seen since we were attacked. Go ahead and try it. Just touch it, I think. That's what Granddad used to do. He said all you needed was the power and the will. I'm thinking you might have both."

The green diamond glowed as Balthazar reached again for the doll, this time without objection from Kaitlin. His hand curled around the painted image. He felt a crack open around the doll's middle, saw a bright light flash beneath his hand. Then something cold and wet seeped out and kept on coming. He drew back his hand and watched with the others in the room, fascinated.

A white liquid like milk flowed out of the small wooden figure, flowed in a stream off the table onto the floor, where it pooled and swirled in a sudden multitude of colors. The colors, vibrant as fresh paint, rose and blended, taking form even as the onlookers stared in wonder. The form became the living embodiment of the image they'd seen. Keane was free at last.

His sister fell to her knees in front of him. She wrapped her arms around him and simply wept, while he stood in bewilderment in the midst of strangers.

Horvath the soldier saw potential that the others, for now at least, hadn't considered, lost as they were in the emotions of the moment. "A sorcerer can't get out himself...or herself," he whispered. To his colleague, he pointed out, "I think we've just found the most powerful weapon yet in this war."

* * *

The journey back to Merlin's castle was slower then that to Kaitlin's farmstead, but it was much more pleasant. Keane had to be tested, to find out if he was indeed Merlin's heir. His sister, however, refused to be parted from him again. They settled on leaving a trusted servant in charge of her estate, and traveling together by wagon, with the two adult sorcerers as escorts. The empty shell that had once held Sheridan's grandson was given to the scout's former classmate as a reward for having freed the boy. The painting was gone now, leaving the doll as nothing but a plain dark piece of polished wood.

"No, I'm afraid not," Merlin concluded. His dragon ring recognized Keane's magic ability, but that was as far as it would go. "You're a sorcerer, lad, but you're not of my line." He gave the boy a kindly, albeit disappointed, smile. "Still, we're very pleased to have found you. There are so few of us left."

After much discussion, the sorcerers decided-with Kaitlin's reluctant permission-to send Keane to train with one of Merlin's followers. They would attract too much attention if they tried to tutor him at home, and they couldn't take the chance of him being discovered with no training at all. Besides, Keane wanted to learn.

Once again, Veronica stayed behind while her peers escorted their new allies to their destination. Merlin studied the new artifact in the meantime.

When the men returned, Veronica welcomed each with a happy embrace. "Come and see," she invited them as she led the way up to the training floor. "We've been experimenting while you were gone."

The doll was there on a table, still devoid of decoration. Merlin, busily adding information to his Encantus on its podium, looked up at the new arrivals. "Did everything go well?" he asked.

Horvath nodded. "As smoothly as possible, all things considered."

"Good." He directed their gazes to the wooden figure on the table. "I've decided to give it a name. 'Grimhold' seems to convey both its purpose and its seriousness, don't you think? It's not to be used as a toy, after all."

"It's a prison," explained Veronica. "And we mean to use it against Morgana."

Balthazar wondered aloud, "How do we use it? We know how to release whoever is inside, but how does the person get inside to begin with?"

"Just open it and aim," she replied.

Merlin picked up the apparently innocent device. "We'll show you." Veronica stepped away from them and waited. When her master removed the top half of the doll, her body dissolved into smoke. It was drawn swiftly inside the open receptacle. Merlin clapped the top back on and showed the younger men what he held.

Veronica's image appeared as if coming out of a fog. The painting was Sheridan's style, though he'd never laid eyes on this subject, a reminder of the artist for as long as his creation endured.

The demonstration continued. Setting the Grimhold down on the floor, Merlin rested his hand on it and then backed away, drawing the others with him. As before, a bright light came from the opening. This time, however, no white liquid flowed, but a tiny curled form in a gray sac shot through with red tumbled out onto the floor. It grew and developed in a matter of moments into a newborn girl, then a child in a white shift, then finally the fully-grown woman whose image had adorned her prison wall. Veronica stood before them, wholly restored as if she had never been otherwise. "Would either of you two gentlemen like to be next?" she offered with a smile.

Horvath pointed to his companion. "You can go next," he said. "I think I'd rather just watch."

"Thanks, _friend_."

"You're quite welcome."

* * *

It was a disconcerting experience, to say the least. He caught a glimpse of a violent maelstrom within the doll's opening, pulling him in... He felt his body fall away, his mind begin to drift until it, too, was caught and drawn in against his will. He would have screamed in terror if he could, but there was nothing left of him. He floated in silent darkness, alone in a timeless void.

Whether time passed outside his prison, he could only guess. It might have been an instant, or a thousand years, but then the pulling began again. He flailed for something solid. There was nothing but a floor beneath him, but that at least was something. He thought he stood. He spread his arms for balance, waiting.

The world came into being around him. They were all staring at him, waiting to hear his reaction. He gave it. "Wow. That was...unpleasant."

"Scary, you mean." Veronica understood.

"Yes. I don't want to ever do that again." They were silent; then he asked, "So what was I when I came out?"

Horvath answered, "A Cornelian Cherry tree. First a bunch of roots, then a sapling, and so on."

"Oh." Balthazar didn't quite know what to make of that. He rounded on his fellow apprentice. "All right, Horvath, your turn."

Horvath, however, had other ideas. "I don't think so," he said. "We've learned all we need to know about this device. I'll leave the inside information to you." He gave a slight bow.

"Your turn will come," his friend promised, or threatened. "Just you wait."

Merlin set the doll back on the table where it had been. He informed his team, "I'll be making some modifications. As it is now, any sorcerer can open the Grimhold, either to capture someone or to release him. That's too much of a risk when Morgana is involved. Assuming we do capture her, we don't want one of her followers to just let her out again if he gets hold of the doll."

"What do you plan to do, Merlin?" asked the team's female member.

"I'm going to strengthen the prison walls, so to speak. When I finish, it will take an extraordinary amount of power to open it once it's occupied, more power than even you have.

'Besides that, I plan to add more prison cells in layers around it. Any Morganians who try to rescue their leader will find themselves in the same predicament as she. That should be ample discouragement for her followers."

The apprentices exchanged thoughtful looks. Veronica was the first to voice their hopeful question. "Does this mean we don't need to find your heir, the Prime Merlinian? Once Morgana and her supporters are locked up, the war will be over, won't it? You can remove the age spell, and we can all live normal lives. Right?"

The master nodded. "Yes. This will take a while, though. The Grimhold wasn't created overnight, and the modifications won't be done any sooner. Until its purpose is fulfilled, we need to continue the quest."


	14. A fatal confession

**Chapter Fourteen**

"I wish he could tell me what he's thinking."

The team was outside, sitting together on the slope overlooking the moonlit lake at the bottom. It was a fine autumn evening, the air refreshingly cool but the ground beneath them retaining the warmth of the day. A clear sky revealed a moon nearly full and stars as far as the eye could see.

Alvar's eyes were directed upward at those stars, eyes glowing a soft white like the moon they mirrored. He seemed peaceful enough, seated there in the midst of his friends, yet far away in a world of his own.

Veronica tried to sound optimistic as she gave Balthazar's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "Maybe the Fusion Spell will help"

He shook his head. "I'm not even close to getting that one. Even if I were, none of our spells work on him. Merlin is the only one with any control, and we don't know how much of it he has left. I'm afraid of what could happen if we ever have another...incident."

"He seems happier now without the manacles," she noted. "And, since he's been allowed outside when we're here, he hasn't tried to run away again. I think he really does want to stay with us."

"Still, I wish he could tell us so."

Horvath, on Veronica's other side, interrupted the lull that followed. "The Fusion Spell...I'm not getting it, either. You, my dear..." He clasped her hand in his... "are the only one of us who's making progress. Tell me, how close are you to mastering this thing?"

"Not close, but I believe I'm starting to understand it. Once I'm able to move my own soul into the body of another creature, it should be easier to move someone else's soul into mine."

"And when you do possess that other creature, what then? Does it cease being itself? Will it actually be you in that body, seeing through the creature's eyes, able to understand what people are saying?"

"Yes, I think so. Not 'cease,' though, just be suppressed, under my control."

Horvath studied their silent companion. The spell was their best chance of reaching Alvar, to call back the lost soul from within his own body. Balthazar, as the most trusted one among them, was the obvious choice to make the attempt. However, if he failed to match Veronica's skill in this area, she was likely to be accepted as a substitute. The main problem was the one Balthazar had already mentioned: their magic had no effect on Merlin's subject. Well, they could worry about that later. Right now, their focus at home was mastering the spell.

* * *

It had been a good day. Not only had the team just returned from a victorious battle, but Merlin's work with the Grimhold was nearing completion. He had crafted his third shell, this one nearly as large as an actual newborn, and imbued it with the necessary spells to catch and hold the essence of a sorcerer. Veronica was able by now to transfer her own essence into the body of an animal. Her colleagues lagged far behind, and Horvath finally gave up the effort. Instead, he concentrated on honing his fighting and strategy skills, the areas in which he excelled. They had served him well in the battle just won.

After a late supper, for which even Alvar had been brought to join them, hopes ran high that the war would soon be over. The apprentices tried to imagine their future, and how their lives would change.

Balthazar asked, "Horvath, what are you going to do once you don't need your battle training anymore? You won't know what to do with yourself then, will you?"

"Oh, there will always be a need for someone who can fight," his friend replied. "Even if the Morganians lose their leader, there will be those who continue to oppose us, and I dare say they're busy training more even now. We can't let down our guard just because we've captured Morgana-IF we capture her."

"Well said, Horvath." Merlin nodded approvingly. "You're quite right. Idealism is a wonderful thing, so long as it doesn't blind us to reality. Still, things are going well at the moment."

Balthazar turned next to the woman beside him. "And what about you, Veronica? What are your plans?"

She allowed herself a whimsical smile. "I thought I already told you. I want what almost every woman wants. That hasn't changed." Deliberately, she fixed her eyes on the table in front of her. "I'll fight as long as I have to, but someday, when we're free of our enemies, I want a home and a family of my own, to live with the man I love as his wife-if he'll have me."

Horvath inhaled sharply and sat back, his hand trembling a little. To cover his reaction, he lifted his goblet and drank deeply of the wine it held. The action seemed to calm him somewhat.

Veronica shifted in her seat. "Balthazar, you haven't told us your own plans. What would you do if you were free?"

Her words triggered something in the only member of their company who hadn't spoken. Alvar focused on his former student, and Balthazar felt the intensity of that unblinking silver gaze as if it were a physical force boring into him. He remembered: the ride from Morgana's compound to earn the title of Master, his expressed desire to be free of her, and his master's response. _What would you do if you were free?_ He repeated the answer he'd given then, for it was still true. "I'd live my life in peace. It doesn't matter where." He grinned at his fellow diners. "You're all welcome to come with me, if you like."

Horvath lifted his cup in a toast. "Peace is nice for a while, but I like some excitement now and then. I'll just visit. How's that?"

"Good enough."

* * *

"She doesn't know, Balthazar. How could she not know?" Horvath nearly danced as he walked with his friend and Alvar back to the older man's room. Alvar had long since been offered a room upstairs, near those of his escorts, but he refused to stay there. In the morning, he would always be found back in his cell, where he seemed to be most comfortable. They compromised by leaving the cell door unlocked, not that it could have held him anyway if he were determined to leave.

"What doesn't she know?"

"How I feel about her, of course. Didn't you hear what she said at supper?"

Yes, he'd heard. He wished he hadn't. Thinking about it stirred up unwelcome feelings and desires. Despite his determination to keep out of the way, he found himself wanting what she did; he couldn't help wanting to be that man she loved. He wanted _her._ It was useless to deny it any longer, at least to himself.

He set his own longings aside. Veronica already had her man, if she but knew it. Balthazar tried to sound encouraging. "Are you going to tell her, then?"

"Tomorrow, yes." He beamed with delight. "I've been waiting so long for her, thinking she was holding back out of fear. I tried to understand; yes, we're in a dangerous line of work, and we never know if we'll be coming back from the next fight. That wasn't it, though. She was just afraid I wasn't serious. I should have said something years ago. I'm a fool, Balthazar, but a happy fool."

Balthazar managed a weak smile. "I'm glad for you. For both of you."

"Thanks, mate." He clapped a hand on his fellow apprentice's shoulder. "You kept your word about not trying to influence her your way. I appreciate that." He stepped back then and concluded, "I'm going to bed now. Tomorrow's a big day. Good-night, Balthazar. Good-night, Alvar." With a cheery wave, he turned and headed back upstairs.

Balthazar watched him go. He felt his master's gaze upon him, and met the shining eyes. Again, it seemed that the other knew his thoughts, sensed the sadness beneath the faltering smile. "Come on," he said at last. "Let's get you back to your room."

Once there, he found himself loath to leave. He was restless, even after his busy day, but he wanted to be with a friend. Alvar didn't appear to be tired. Balthazar considered. Finally, he extended an invitation. "Would you like to go for a walk outside?"

He didn't have to ask twice. They were nearing the edge of the courtyard when Balthazar realized, "I forgot to bring a torch." Casually, he conjured a fireball to guide them in the darkness.

His master saw and moved his hands in imitation, but nothing happened. He hadn't done any magic since that day in the forest clearing so many years ago. Whether he couldn't or simply didn't remember how, that ability was lost to him, just as was the ability to speak.

Not for the first time, Balthazar was moved to pity. As they walked, he recalled what the man had told him of his family, and he knew that Master Alvar would understand.

"I love her," he said. "I didn't want it to happen, but it happened anyway. I can't even say that I lost her, because she was never mine to begin with. It still hurts, though." He glanced aside at his companion. "You know what that feels like, don't you? You've lost the woman you loved, and your son besides. At least I can see that Veronica is happy, even if she's with someone else."

Alvar walked beside him, his face impassive, but listening intently. Balthazar went on. "I don't know how much you understand of what I'm saying, Master. You asked for my forgiveness once, but I'm afraid I need yours even more. I should have been there, with Merlin, when he did The Rising, or else the spell shouldn't have been done at all. We..._I_...have done you ill. 'I'm sorry' sounds so inadequate." He shook his head in despair.

"We need the Fusion Spell to work. Veronica's our best hope for that. Once she brings you back from wherever it is you are-your soul, that is-you'll be restored to us. Then, when the war is over, I'll go away somewhere. If you want to, you can come with me. My offer is still good."

He couldn't say for sure, but it seemed to him that his master was pleased. They completed their circuit of the grounds and started back for the castle. "You're a good listener," Balthazar commented. "Thank you. Maybe I'll be able to sleep tonight after all."

* * *

He was gone before sunrise. Despite the hope he'd expressed the night before, he hadn't slept well or long. Finally giving up the effort, he threw back the bedcovers and donned his riding gear.

In the stable, he was fitting a bridle over the head of his mount when a voice came from behind him. "Where are you going, Balthazar?"

He turned, one hand on the bridle to lead his horse out for saddling. "Good morning, Joseph," he said. "Just out for a ride. I couldn't sleep."

The groom frowned. "You're going out alone? Does Merlin know?"

Merlin didn't like his people, whether sorcerer or civilian, to leave the castle alone. The enemy was still out there. Balthazar continued his preparation. "No," he answered. "I didn't want to wake him." He flashed a conspiratorial grin at the other man. "Don't worry about me, Joseph. The way I feel right now, I hope there's a Morganian around who _is_ foolish enough to attack."

"Oh. Well, what should I tell Merlin when he asks about you?"

"You can tell him whatever you like."

The groom looked distinctly unhappy with that reply, and Balthazar immediately regretted his tone. "I'm sorry, Joseph," he apologized. "Tell him...I need to think about...things. I'll be careful."

"When will you be back?" The unspoken question was there, betrayed by the fear in his voice: _Will_ you be back?

"I'll be back. Today, sometime. I have responsibilities." With that, he was up and off, a tall silhouette against the rising sun.

* * *

Shadows had grown long in the east by the time she found him. He was sitting on the ground, hands clasped around his knees, staring at the place where the cairn had been built and dismantled. He seemed unaware of her arrival.

"Balthazar," she called. "I'm so glad you're here. When you left without warning, and without your amulet, we were afraid you weren't coming back."

He smiled, but didn't move. "Hello, Veronica. I told Joseph I'd be back today."

"I know, but still..." She came to him then and knelt at his side. Wrapping an arm across his back, she rested her head upon his shoulder. "I was afraid," she finished.

"Where's Horvath?" he asked. "I'm surprised you're not with him."

She sighed. "He's at the castle, practicing with his knives. He's not happy with me."

That got a reaction. Balthazar turned his head toward his visitor, puzzled. "I don't understand," he admitted. "Why is he not happy? I thought today would have been the happiest day of his life. Of both your lives."

"Did you? Then you don't know me, any more than he did."

"I'm confused. Veronica, don't you love Horvath?"

"I suppose so," she replied. "I love him as a friend, maybe even as a brother, but not..."

"Not what?"

"Not like you."

Balthazar was stunned. "Like...me?" Could it be true?

"Like you. I knew from the first day we met that you were someone special."

"I tried to kill you!"

"You were sent to kill me. You chose not to. I haven't forgotten that, Balthazar."

"But..."

"Stop arguing with me, before I start thinking you're not interested."

He shut up. Taking her in his arms, he kissed her long and tenderly, as he'd dreamed of doing so often but never dared to hope for. He pulled her down with him onto the grass. They nestled in each other's arms, and the sinking sun was their only witness.

* * *

Merlin welcomed the returning pair with a mixture of gladness and relief. He knew that something had changed, but for Horvath's sake, kept his knowledge to himself.

Horvath, however, saw for himself and guessed what had transpired. He avoided them all while he brooded in anger. He waited just outside his room until Balthazar arrived on his way to his own room next door. The younger man saw him and stopped.

The senior apprentice appeared nonchalant. leaning against his doorpost with one hand resting casually upon the sword hilt at his belt. When he spoke, his voice was carefully controlled. "I suppose you think you're clever, eh, _friend_? You've been playing me for a fool all this time, laughing behind my back no doubt."

"No, Horvath, you're wrong. I've never lied to you. I kept my word."

"Tell me," Horvath went on, ignoring the hurt evident in his friend's reply, "how long have you been planning this? Were you just waiting for me to put it out in the open, to finally ask her so she could turn me down in public?"

"To ask her...?"

"Yes, I asked her to marry me. But you knew that, didn't you?"

"No, I didn't." Balthazar was growing tired of the accusations. "Look, I'm sorry things didn't work out the way you wanted. When I left this morning, I fully expected to come back and find you and Veronica together, as a couple. I was willing to accept that. We-you and I-didn't know her as well as we thought we did. She made her choice."

Horvath sneered. "Why you? You're a nobody, nothing but the bastard son of a whore." He seemed pleased to see Balthazar's eyes narrowing in anger, and continued his taunt. "What did you learn from your mother, eh? Did you learn to seduce a lover, or do you use your magic instead so she can't resist your wiles? How many others did you take before Veronica?"

That was enough. Balthazar threw the first punch, but there were many more from both combatants. They grappled, with and without magic, neither gaining an advantage. Horvath, thrown back against a wall, drew his sword; he meant to kill.

"STOP!" Merlin's voice boomed in the hallway. A bright blue light pinned the opponents against opposite walls, from which they could only glare at each other. Merlin strode between them, hands outstretched to either side to keep the blue light in place. "Stop," he commanded again. He lowered his hands, releasing his apprentices but making it clear that no further fighting would be tolerated. "We have enough enemies outside this castle," he reminded them both. "We can't afford to be fighting among ourselves. Whatever your differences are, you need to resolve them and move on, _without_ resorting to violence. Save it for the battlefield." He gave them each a stern look. "Do I make myself clear?"

The hall was quiet for a few moments; then, reluctantly: "Yes, sir," Balthazar conceded. Horvath followed suit.

"Good. Go to bed now, both of you. I'll expect better behavior in the morning." He spun on his heel to leave-and stopped short.

At the end of the hallway, just past the corner beyond which lay the training room, stood Alvar. Even from where they were, the sorcerers could see the red in his glowing eyes. He gave a low growl.

Balthazar slipped past Merlin toward the visitor. "Master, what are you doing here?" he asked. He followed the other's gaze back to Horvath, who shifted nervously in place. "You heard the fight, didn't you?" He laid a hand gently on his master's arm, and the red slowly faded from the angry eyes. "I'm all right. It was just a disagreement, that's all."

Merlin strode forward, waving a beckoning hand. "Come, Alvar. It's time for bed. We'll all feel better after a good night's sleep." He left, and after some hesitation, Alvar followed.

Horvath waited until he and Balthazar were alone again. He put his sword away, then warned, "This isn't over. I'll have my satisfaction, when Merlin...and your guard dog...aren't around to save you."

"Fine. And just so you know, as if it's any of your business, Veronica is still a virgin. You've impugned her honor without cause." Seeing the stricken look on his rival's face, he felt a vindictive satisfaction of his own.


	15. Betrayal

**Chapter Fifteen**

Everything had changed. Although Horvath remained cordial and cooperative, all of the castle residents, even the servants and the soldiers who kept watch outside, felt a difference. The sorcerer grew distant, often keeping to himself or volunteering to escort the supply wagon to market without his peers.

In contrast, Balthazar and Veronica grew closer than ever. After months of inviting their colleague to join them, in study or pleasure or their quest, and being repeatedly turned down, they came to accept that the team was dissolved in all but name. Only when Merlin sent them out against the enemy did the trio work together as before.

No, not as before. The poison that had taken root in Horvath's mind was showing itself even there, on the battlefield. He was slow to defend the comrade he'd once called 'friend', more than once leaving Veronica to deflect a strike aimed at Balthazar. When the pair confronted him about his lapses, he claimed that he hadn't seen the attacks in time to stop them.

"He's not doing his job," Balthazar complained to Merlin one evening after the latest scuffle. "It's getting to the point where it's more dangerous to have him with us than for Veronica and I to fight alone. We've tried to patch things up, but he's just not interested. I don't know what to do."

Merlin shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid there's nothing you can do. I hate to see what's happened to him, but it's not your fault. All we can do is get this war over with as quickly as possible. I suspect that Horvath is planning to leave us soon. Time presses. We need to capture or kill Morgana and her strongest supporters while we still have all three of you. After that, perhaps time will heal what magic and memories can't. I hope so."

"I hope so, too. I miss our friendship."

* * *

"What news, Fenwick?"

"Ah, Master Saul, there's trouble within." The dye-and-ink dealer winked at his ostensible customer. "They hardly ever go out together anymore. The one apprentice comes to town alone, if you don't count the humans. In fact, he's here right now, somewhere. Look for a man with a sword."

"Thank you, Fenwick." In an instant, "Saul's" features melted away and reformed into those of the Merlinian Horvath. The dealer recoiled in horror, but there was nowhere to run. Horvath blocked the only exit.

The sorcerer favored his captive with a humorless smile. "I've been watching you for some time," he informed the merchant. "I knew Morgana wouldn't let this town go without a spy for very long, but it took me a while after we eliminated the last one to figure out who the new facilitator was." He fingered the blue-jeweled hilt of his sword, and Fenwick's eyes widened even further.

"Oh, don't worry," the visitor assured him. "I'm not here to kill you. No, I want you to give Morgana a message."

"A...a message?"

"Yes." Horvath was clearly enjoying the effect he was having on the enemy spy. "Tell your leader that I'd like to meet her somewhere, just the two of us. I have a proposal to make."

* * *

She was seated on a heavy chair that looked suspiciously like a throne. Around her, all was black mist. She, and the chair, seemed somewhat less than solid themselves. "You asked for a meeting," she began. "What is it you want?"

Horvath, or rather his spirit, closed his eyes briefly, his mind racing with doubts and a little fear. He banished them; he'd made his decision, and there was no backing out. "A mutually beneficial agreement," he replied. She waited. He explained: "There's someone I'd like you to...eliminate. He was one of your students. He betrayed you, and it was chiefly because of him that your headquarters was destroyed."

The woman nodded. "Yes, you mean Balthazar. Never mind that we've already been trying to 'eliminate' him for years, but I'm curious: why have you turned against him? I thought he was one of yours now."

"Well, yes, but you're not the only one he's betrayed. He's taken from me the woman who should have been mine."

"Then why don't you just kill him yourself?"

Horvath dropped his gaze to the black mist under the chair. "She would never forgive me," he admitted.

"So you want me to do the deed instead, is that it? I'd be happy to, but it's not that easy. What do you propose?"

"You must do it yourself," he answered. "None of your people is strong enough."

"What, come in person? Into open battle?" She shook her head. "No. I'm not going to risk myself and my soldiers just to assuage your jealousy. I have no interest in your personal squabbles. My plans are far too important for such nonsense. Now, if that's all..." She started to fade away.

"Wait!"

"Is there more?" The ghostly image returned.

"I...yes." He'd hoped it wouldn't come to this, but had feared, correctly, that it was inevitable. "I can help you win this war."

She arched an eyebrow. "How?"

"There's a spell called The Rising."

* * *

Alvar woke to the sound of battle. Instinctively, he searched for the Friend or his mate, but neither was near. Master was here, and so was the Cold One, but there was another, as well. His face contorted in hatred. It was the Enemy. He felt her presence growing closer. The Cold One was with her. He crouched, his muscles tensed to spring.

When the cell door opened, he was ready. Quick as a cat, he pounced, hands reaching outward like claws to tear at her face and throat.

To his utter shock, he never reached her. She flung her arms up to create an instant, invisible wall. He slammed into it, howling. The Enemy staggered back, more than a little shocked in her turn that her wall had yielded ground. He lunged forward again. This time, she summoned chains, many chains, to erupt from the stone behind him and wrap themselves around him. They dragged him back. Furious, he struggled against the bonds that held him pinned to the back of the cell. "They won't hold him for long," warned the Cold One. He and his companion hurried out of the room. Before they left, the Enemy blasted a torrent of fire inside. The cell became an inferno. Alvar shrieked, but his tormenters were already gone.

* * *

"What did I tell you?" Horvath asked rhetorically. "With an army of sorcerers like that, not even Merlin would be able to stop you." They hurried along the hallway of the castle, sweeping aside its human guards with little more than a wave of the hand. Screams of men and horses came from outside. Scattered fires blazed in the various rooms where servants and other defenders had fallen. As the sorcerers ascended the staircase to the training room floor, the Merlinian reviewed what the two of them had plotted. "My colleagues should be on their way back right now, if my little distraction in town went according to plan. I'll keep a lookout for them from an upper window while you take care of Merlin. He has to be tired by now from trying to protect all his people at once."

"And failing," the woman pointed out with glee.

"Yes. When I see them coming, I'll let you know. I want to be out of there by the time you meet them." They reached the top of the stairs. Beyond, to the left and down a few steps, was the training floor where the master had retreated. To the right was the corridor along which lay Horvath's quarters. "Please," he begged, "remember to spare Veronica. She's the whole reason I'm doing this."

"I know." It was scant reassurance, but it was all that Horvath was going to get. He had no choice but to accept it.

* * *

Smoke filled the corridor as Horvath rushed back to warn Morgana of the others' arrival. He had to stop and grope his way along until he found a door that opened into the training room.

What he saw wasn't quite what he expected. Merlin had the invader's arms pinned behind her, embedded in the pillar against which she stood. This wouldn't do at all. In order to carry out their plan, Horvath needed his cohort to be free. "Merlin," he called.

His master acknowledged him. "Horvath."

This was the crucial moment. The Grimhold was waiting, there on a table not far away. Now, while Morgana was frozen in place, he could lock her inside forever. He would be the hero...

...but Balthazar would still be there. Veronica would never leave him, not as long as he was alive.

Horvath made his choice. The blue gems on his sword hilt glowed, and the pillar crumbled away from the captive arms.

"You betray me?" Merlin's voice was thick with both hurt and anger. A moment later, his face reflected shock of a different kind. The enemy's sword had just run him through.

Horvath wasted no time with regrets. As instructed, he tore out the Encantus page on which was written The Rising spell. He kept his eyes turned away from his fallen master as he passed him, hurrying to leave the room before his fellow apprentices got there. Morgana remained to fulfill her part of their agreement. He had to trust her to keep it.

He had just reached the bottom of the stairs, moving by memory more than anything else in the blinding smoke, when he saw to one side a shape looming closer even as he watched. It was a lumbering, charred hulk of a man that could have come straight from a nightmare. The eyes glowed fiery red.

The thing saw Horvath. Its hideous face twisted in hatred, the lipless mouth opening in a silent scream of rage. It charged toward him.

Horvath fled. Tripping over bodies, crashing into furniture hidden by the smoke, he dared not stop. His pursuer tossed every obstacle aside, or simply crashed through it, in its relentless drive to kill. Outside, the sorcerer grabbed the first horse he could find, which happened to be the one his rival had ridden, and raced away, only his heart racing faster. From time to time he looked back, only to see the red glow still following, albeit at a greater distance each time. When the animal's strength gave out and it collapsed, trembling with fatigue, its rider kept going on foot. Fear and exhaustion warred for dominance; but eventually, as it must, exhaustion won the battle.

* * *

Balthazar knelt beside the dying master of the castle. Merlin, strong protector of man against the threat of Morgana's tyranny, lay stricken by the tyrant's now-discarded blade. His apprentice, helpless to stop or even slow what they both knew was coming, gripped the old sorcerer's hand, the only comfort he could offer.

"She did it," the younger man said softly, past a throat tightened by grief and horror. "Veronica used the Fusion Spell. They're both...I had to...they're in the Grimhold. Veronica and Morgana."

Merlin nodded once. "You can't let them out until you find him, the heir. Take the ring." He straightened his hand so that Balthazar could slip the dragon ring off its master's finger. Once it lost contact with its owner, the little dragon uncurled so that it became instead a figurine resting in Balthazar's hand. "It will lead you," the master informed his companion. His voice was growing weaker. "You must find the child. The Prime Merlinian is the only one who can kill Morgana."

"I will find him," Balthazar promised.

"I know you will. This is your calling, to search and save. You're a good man, Balthazar." With that, the old man smiled. His eyes closed, and the final breath of life departed.

The last Merlinian hung his head in sorrow. From days long past, he remembered what in childhood had seemed a mere curiosity, but now he knew to be fitting. He prayed for the soul of the sorcerer Merlin.

* * *

A bleak morning brought no relief from the devastation of the night before. Nothing remained but desolation. The castle that had been his home had become instead a crypt, filled with death and ruin. Merlin was gone. Master Alvar had vanished. His friend Horvath was now a deadly enemy. And Veronica...

Balthazar looked down again at the wooden doll he held, at the image of his beloved. She was there, waiting for him to free her. He vowed that he would. "No matter how long it takes," he told her, though he knew not if she heard. "No matter how far I have to go, no matter what the cost, I am going to find the Prime Merlinian. He'll destroy Morgana, and then we can be together, always." He caressed the painted hair. "I love you, Veronica. I need you, even more than you need me to set you free. You're all I have left."

He tucked the Grimhold inside his mantle, next to his heart. The outer layers were already packed in his saddlebags, but he wanted to keep her close. He wouldn't cover her image with another layer until he had no other choice.

Up now, into the saddle, and Balthazar was ready to go. He rode away without looking back; the Mighty Hunter, Great Defender once again going forth to an uncertain future. The quest was personal now, like his hope of one day restoring his master. Whether either would ever be fulfilled, he couldn't know. Only stubborn, fragile hope remained. It had to be enough.

* * *

The quarry was escaping. He ran on through the night, intent on the rider drawing ever further ahead. He slowed when his target reached the vast tract of woodland beyond the castle grounds, disappearing among the trees at a frantic gallop. Growling, the pursuer followed. What he lacked in speed, he made up for in stamina.

He came upon the fallen beast some hours later. It snorted and tossed its head, fearful of his approach, but was still too tired to rise. He passed it without stopping. The animal wasn't important. He continued the chase.

The Cold One had stopped running. He sensed that he was drawing nearer to his quarry, and a savage delight drew the corners of his mouth back in a teeth-baring grimace. The trees were thinning, still bare and black in the light of false dawn, but letting him see enough to make out the dark huddled mass in the lessening distance. His ring sent a pulse through his charred hand; he was closing in.

He must have made a sound, or else some internal alarm woke the sleeper. The Cold One's head snapped up, and he peered directly at his foe. The prey, exhausted though he was, scrambled to his feet. He sent a crackling blue ball of light at his pursuer. It dispersed harmlessly against the rock-hard skin of the hunter, but the light served its purpose. The glowing red eyes were temporarily blinded. When they could see again, the quarry was off and running. With a snarl, the creature that had been Alvar resumed his pursuit.

* * *

"I need to get off this island," Horvath insisted. "Now!"

The captain wasn't impressed. "My ship is for cargo, not passengers," he told the stranger. "And even if I was to take you on board, we ain't gonna be ready to leave for another couple of hours."

Horvath grabbed the man by his shirtfront. He hissed in the other's face, "I don't have a couple of hours." He'd been on the run for the past three days, on horseback when he could get a steed, with precious little sleep and even less food or time for maintaining the cultured image of which he'd been so proud. Glowing eyes haunted his dreams. They were coming, he knew, still coming for him. The hunter never stopped.

"Sorry," the captain shrugged. "Not my problem."

Horvath drew his sword with his free hand and held the point against his captive's throat. "Now it _is_ your problem. Get me out of here, now, or I'll take your head off."

To the man's credit, he wasn't easily intimidated. "Well, sir, if you do that, who's going to run the ship?"

Calm, Horvath told himself. Don't panic. Use your head. The sound of screaming came to his ears, sensitive from listening for the slightest indicator that the monstrous creature was nearing. He spun with the captain still in his grip. It was there, on the far end of the seaside town but bearing down relentlessly on its target. Terrified civilians scrambled out of its way. The captain saw what was coming, too. He swore and tried to break away from the warrior's hold on him.

The master of strategy switched tactics. Expertly, he flipped his sword one-handed and grabbed the blade just below the hilt. The glow of the blue gems reflected in the captain's eyes.

"You are taking me to the mainland now," Horvath intoned. "Immediately. We're not waiting for anyone or anything."

The human repeated the instructions as if in a trance. The sorcerer let him go, and they both ran to the cargo ship waiting at the dock. The captain shouted orders to his crew, while he himself untied the mooring rope. They pulled away just as the creature set foot on the edge of the dock where they had been only a moment before.

The thing howled in frustration. It was an eerie, awful sound that would not soon be forgotten. Horvath leaned, shaking, against the rail as his homeland fell away. He couldn't go back, not now and maybe not ever. Where was Veronica now? he wondered. Nothing had worked out the way he'd planned. He had no home left, no allies, and no Veronica. He sank to the deck, shuddering as the enormity of what he'd done became clear in his overtired mind. His future was a cloud of uncertainty.

Meanwhile, though, the movement of the sturdy craft through churning sea waves soothed his aching body. He let the rhythmic rocking work a magic of its own. For the first time since the Morganian attack, he slept without fear.

* * *

The hunter watched as his quarry disappeared beyond the horizon. His sense of the Cold One's presence faded as the distance between them increased, until it diminished to a simple, general awareness of the sorcerer's signature power. Just as he felt the power of the Master and of the Friend, so too did he recognize that of the one who'd escaped him. They were far away now, all of them. He was alone.

Well, not completely. Upon turning his back to the open water, he found himself ringed by frightened townsfolk. The men had formed a human wall, armed with hammers or fishing spears or whatever they could find, and were pressing forward, trying to drive the invader into the sea behind him.

He took out his frustration on this new foe. Finally, the rage within found release.

* * *

He itched all over. It was his skin regenerating, along with new hair replacing that which had been burned away. The itching kept him in a bad temper, so that he was apt to attack anything unfortunate enough to cross his path. He kept to the woods, with its plentiful scratching posts, in a meandering journey back to the last place he'd considered his home. Everything from beetles to bears became his prey.

When he reached the castle in the first days of Winter, his mind at first refused to accept what he saw. The great stones were blackened, one wall collapsed inward to expose the ruined interior. The place still reeked of smoke. At the rear, neat rows of earthen mounds filled the slope down to the little lake. Centered in their midst was a tall cairn, a flat inscribed stone at its peak, the whole encased in thick glass. Nothing lived here anymore; even the grass was scorched.

He whimpered like a lost child. Gone, gone was everything good or familiar. With a last, mournful cry to the cold sky above, he left Merlin's castle forever.

* * *

Long were the years before Alvar felt the calling. Gradually, he'd resumed the habits he'd acquired at the castle: keeping a tattered, stolen cloak wrapped around him as clothing, using cupped hands to drink, and sleeping on makeshift beds instead of on the ground. His hair grew long and shaggy. He wandered from village to city to town, staying hidden on the outskirts but needing to be near people in an effort to keep his loneliness at bay. At times, the twin presences of his Friend and Master would grow near enough for him to discern the direction from which they came. Then he would be off in a joyous rush, only to lose track of them as they moved away again. Then, for a long time, the distance was so great that he barely felt their power at all.

His ring gave him the first sign that he might find his missing companions once more. Its throbbing woke him from a light sleep, one in which he dreamed of them all in more contented days. His silver eyes gazed at the ornament, puzzled. Echoes of opposing energy washed through his mind, the Cold One and the Friend. They were locked in battle, one so fierce that he felt it even here. It was coming from the west. He headed in that direction. The Cold One's power vanished suddenly, but he was still picking up that of the other combatant. It called to him, and he was determined to answer.

By the time he reached the western shore of the island, the summons had gone dormant again. Still, now he knew where to go. He would climb onto the biggest ship he could find, hide himself until it reached the far shore, and continue his search from there. Nothing and nobody would stop him.

* * *

The ship was a gigantic metal monster without oars or sails. He hid in its heart, huddled behind massive pipes with his head down and hands over his ears to protect them from the deafening roar. The place smelled of grease and burning oil. When the ship made landfall, he darted out past astonished crew and passengers, heedless of them all in his haste to get away.

Sultry air greeted him this evening. This was a new land, full of new sights and smells and sounds. The city clustered at the mouth of a great river that flowed into the sea. He skirted the city, then circled back to the river shore, following it upstream on his quest to find the one he sought. Here where everything was different, he kept once more to the forest whenever possible. At least some of the trees were of the varieties he knew.

He wandered, awaiting a resurgence of the call. The years passed.

* * *

"Master, I've come."

"Balthazar! I thought you would be here first."

"I know. You asked me to wait for you, but it turns out I'm the one who's kept you waiting."

"I felt your presence before, but I didn't see you. I didn't know where you were."

"I'm sorry. I tried to reach you, but I couldn't. Merlin's new spell had already begun, and it wouldn't let me come any closer."

"I've been lonely, Balthazar. This place is peaceful, yes-almost too much so. I feel like we're in the middle of a cloud, cut off from everything. Until you arrived, all I saw were occasional flashes of light like shooting stars outside this mist. The only sounds were echoes, too faint for me to make out what they were. It seems to me that we're caught between two worlds, hovering in this nothingness. There's not even a floor to give me a sense of reality."

"It does seem almost like a dream, doesn't it?"

"Almost. There's no time here, either, or at least I haven't felt its passage. How long has it been since that day in the clearing?"

"Nearly fifteen centuries, Master."

"...Did you say..._centuries_?"

"Mm hmm. A lot has happened. I joined Merlin, to begin with. He cast a spell to keep us from aging until Morgana was destroyed."

"So that was done, and now your age has caught up with you. The last time I saw you, you were only seventeen. These new bodies, or whatever they are, don't look like the originals. We've become like shining ghosts. I can't tell how old you are now."

"Ageless now, like you, Master. Still, it was a bit premature. Morgana will have been destroyed by now, yes, but not by me. Merlin's heir was the only one who could do it. I believe he did, but she took me out before I could see it."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I hope it was quick. I'm confused, though. Merlin had an heir? It looks like I seriously misjudged the old man. Here I thought he was as cold as Morgana. Well, my former apprentice, I'm glad to see you again, whatever the circumstances."

"Likewise. You have no idea."

"Then tell me about it."

* * *

"He's calling me, Master. I can hear him."

"Merlin's heir?"

"Yes. He has the power to perform the Rising Spell, just as Merlin did."

"But I didn't hear a calling from Merlin."

"We realized our mistake too late. He calls to my soul, to _me_, here."

"Love was the missing element, from what you've been telling me. You're a lucky man, Balthazar."

"God's protection has been upon me. It was my mother's final blessing."

"Your mother...my first mistake with you, the first thing I did to hurt you. I wish I could undo it-that, and all the other things I did in the service of Morgana. Forgive me."

"It's all right. You've had my forgiveness, if only I could have told you, even before I left you pinned to that burning tree. You were a father to me, father and master and friend. You still are. That will never change."

"Thank you. I don't deserve it, but thank you."

"I have to go now, Master. They're waiting for me, Dave and Veronica."

"Will you leave me so soon?"

"I would have you join me, Master. I don't know where you are, physically, but I know you're there, in the mortal realm, somewhere. Your body is practically indestructible. You're the first son of the Rising."

"So much has changed. Do I still have a place in this new world?"

"You'll always have a place, at least with me. I think I can speak for Veronica, too. She'll welcome you almost as much as I do. Come, Master. Come back with me."

"How? Merlin's heir, this 'Dave' you found, is calling you, not me."

"Hold my hand. When he pulls me back, when he reunites body and soul, I'll pull you back with me. Your soul will find your own body, wherever that is. We'll find each other again, there on Earth, I promise. Please, take my hand. Join me."

"I will."

* * *

In an Appalachian mountain cabin, a wild-eyed, shaggy-haired occupant sat bolt upright in bed. The cold air of early Spring blew in through the broken door, but he barely felt it through his thick hide. Something strange was happening.

The Friend. He could sense contact, though he was still alone. He sat frozen but quivering in place, straining to learn more.

Slowly, a new awareness dawned in his mind. The silver died away from his eyes, leaving only a deep, rich ebony that took in his surroundings as if seeing them now for the first time. He shivered, and not just from the cold.

The sorcerer ring sent warm pulses through his hand. They were directing him northeast, toward the coast, to the one who had restored him to himself. Alvar wondered at this new directional ability, but it was a change he welcomed. There would be many more to discover. Meanwhile, he had a destination, and a friend to thank. Smiling, he spoke for the first time in many a century: just one name, "Balthazar."


End file.
